


All That's Ahead and Behind

by steelneena



Series: All That's Ahead and Behind [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: AU, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, First Meeting, Ghosts, Graphic descriptions of violence, Gratuitous adaptation of Canon to fit the plot, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Requited Love, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, You've got that Fall Feeling, a bloodhunter and a wizard in love, brief violent description of Caleb's parent's death, canon setting and universe, now with mutual pining, pre relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-06-29 11:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 85,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15728781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelneena/pseuds/steelneena
Summary: Autumn is a season of life and death, though not always in that order, as Caleb Widogast is about to find out. Death and life are not always what they seem, especially when it comes to one Mollymauk Tealeaf, the Shade of a dead man doomed forever to haunt the roadside where he died, that is, until he meets Caleb.An alternative, canon set, story.





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> This was born of my ongoing desire for it to just be Autumn already, my Widomauk feels and my everlasting love of all things spooky. Though this is decidedly an unspooky story. 
> 
> COMPLETE
> 
> Thanks so much to my amazing betas, MyriadofColors37: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriadofcolors37  
> And meridas https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridas/pseuds/Meridas
> 
> You are the best.
> 
>  
> 
> The official sountrack if anyone is interested in setting the mood: https://kaunan.bandcamp.com/
> 
> Official Pinterest board by @supersonica 
> 
> https://www.pinterest.com.au/rexcorvus1/all-thats-ahead-and-behind-steelneena-ao3/?sender=490048140611738114&invite_code=e7dd61bda0c8458da70f702eb26c9d38
> 
>  
> 
> Translations in end notes.

_I must remember_

_What died into April_

_And consider what will be born_

_Of a fair November;_

_And April I love for what_

_It was born of, and November_

_For what it will die in,_

_What they are and what they are not,_

_While you love what is kind,_

_What you can sing in_

_And love and forget in_

_All that's ahead and behind._

                          ~ _Stanzas 6-8 of The Thrush, Edward Thomas_

          Harvest Close had always been Caleb’s favourite time of the year.  As a child, he'd indulged in _herbstlaubtrittvergnügen_ , brittle leaves flying everywhere as he ran, leaching their sweet decomposing scent into the air. It hung in place, stagnant like smoke, the heady aroma a reminder of life and of death. He’d always felt the most at home in the Autumn. His mother always said he was made for it, with hair the colour of recently turned oak leaves and eyes like a late Fessuran sky. Once, he had basked in the season's unique charm, enamored of the cycles that it brought, closing the seasons of growing and heralding the seasons of dying, knowing that rebirth was just around the corner. Lately, that reminder was less of a comforting thing and more of a lingering nightmare. Now that he’d come out of the haze he’d previously been mired in, he’d spent far too much time thinking about less than pleasant things, like the faces of his family as they burned alive. But that was morbid and he put it away for another time, safe and sound in a small pocket of his mind, left to rattle and moan like an old ghost shut up in the attic.

          The Amber Road, a portion of which ran from Alfield to Trostenwald, wound its way through soft golden fields, lightly swaying in the gentle and mild wind. Caleb ran his hands like a whisper over the tips of the tall grass. Late bloom wildflowers still dotted the landscape in deep purples and burnt oranges and rich yellows, lending a more welcoming feel to the road along which he travelled. It was little more than a dirt track, well worn by carts and horses and feet through the years. And now, Caleb’s tracks would join those of thousands more who had journeyed the same way and back.

           He closed his eyes, allowing himself to slip for a minute into the mind of the distinctly marked orangish cat that trotted in front of him, using his feline companion to guide him as he kept the pace. Looking through Frumpkin’s eyes was always a strange treat; he would see much more and much differently. The colours of the world were different, and the definition of things around him was much altered. And sometimes, sometimes, if he was in certain sort of place, it allowed him to replicate the experience that the ingestion of _skein_ had brought others, but without the unfortunate side effect of being unimaginably uninhibited while high off one’s ass.

          This day Caleb could see the shadows and lingering wisps of people long gone, coiling tendrils of liquid smoke that marred the deep blue of the sky and the goldenrod rolling hills, leaving him feeling mildly nauseous. The unfortunate fact of that matter was that many people died on the road, far more often than they did elsewhere. All the same, he didn’t retreat, allowing the cat to guide him further, catching glimpses of form in the hazy undefined living memories that dissipated into thin air as he strode through them. He looked back at himself from Frumpkin’s perspective and could see the strange veil of ashy residue that coated him in splotches as he rent more figures in half with his purposeful stride.

           He shivered, chilled, and came back to himself, shaking. _Self-punishment_ , his dear Nott would call it before gently lecturing him about his worthiness with all the tones of a concerned mother. Instead, Caleb chose to focus on the last time he’d seen her, her small green hand on his pale cheek, and her big yellow lanterns of eyes peering out at him from under her hood, telling him to _be careful and I love you! Don’t forget!_

          It was abnormal for them to be apart, especially for so long a time, but it couldn't have been helped. Nott had had personal things to take care of, and Caleb couldn’t bring himself to leave his work behind. He'd continued on in her absence, reassuring her that they would meet up for Harvest Close at the halfway point between them. And so, Trostenwald had become his destination.

           Lost in thought and only paying enough attention to follow Frumpkin, (trusting the little cat to take him where he needed to go, which usually wasn’t a problem, but then he _was_ a cat, or most definitely sort of probably a cat, and cats were not always reliable, winding in their own strange ways about the world) Caleb was alarmed to come out of his thoughts to find himself a ways off the road in a small copse of trees.  The toes of his much worn boots were resting at the foot of a mound of semi-loosened earth, dotted here and there with sparse grass and small, strangely shaped flowers, like dragon’s jaws in yellow and violet and white. The mound was rectangular in shape and of a curiously familiar dimension that chilled Caleb to the core.

          A grave lay before him, a fallen stick the only indicator that a marker had ever been present.

          Frumpkin looked up at him with luminous eyes and mewed. Caleb descended into the familiar vision once more and looked around. Sitting against the trunk of the nearest tree was a shadowy figure, an insubstantial mess of oily black, but very clearly a figure. His back was to the tree and he had one long leg arched, the foot flat on the ground, and the other bobbing in an unhurried manner where it rested over what would have been a knee. Form and shape took hold the harder Caleb concentrated and he could make out finer details – boots, patterned pants, a loose shirt, open halfway down the lightly defined chest covered in strange quicksilver threads that sloped up a delicate neck to features distinctly fine boned. Ghostly curls floated around his head like a halo, contrasting with the curling black of what reminded Caleb of ram’s horns. His head was lolled back against the smooth bark, and his arms splayed, one propped on the thigh of the bobbing leg and the other with nails scratching absently at the dirt. He was beautiful; the casual display of genial ease entranced Caleb.

          Without warning the figure’s head inclined and bright red orbs glowed in the swirling black of its visage, looking directly at Caleb through Frumpkin.

          Shocked, Caleb stumbled back and fell, his vision leaving the cat and returning to his own, eyes staring up wide at the deep blue of the sky in contrast to the bluish grey haze that filmed his familiar’s vision. He sat up slowly and looked at the tree. It was a normal tree, and no one sat beneath its welcoming branches. Tentative but compelled, Caleb stood and made his way over, walking around it, inspecting it. Why, he didn’t know. He was never able to see the things without Frumpkin’s aide, and he knew that, rationally, there ought to be no proof that the figure was there. He found none. Strangely, he felt a sinking in his stomach.

          Frumpkin mewed again, a paw reaching out and touching the disturbed ground with a clawless pat.

          “Komm hier, schatz, und wir waren etwas sehen, ja?” he beckoned to the familiar, fingers outstretched and tongue giving a few clicks. Ever faithful, Frumpkin did as Caleb asked. “Now," he repeated in Zemnian, "we will see something else. Yes, something else indeed."

           The black figure blossomed into his view immediately as he blinked into Frumpkin’s vision, unmoved and seemingly undisturbed. It was apparent that Caleb was visible to the figure, but, as he directed Frumpkin to take a few steps towards him, he moved again, head shifting to the side, and red eyes opening in the cat's direction. This time, Caleb was prepared and continued unfazed. Something about the figure was less terrifying than the others, something in his unassuming demeanor that cast off the morbidity of the scenes Caleb usually perceived; he’d witnessed everything from a dying horse as it was put out of its misery to a bloodied man floating in a river to a woman and a babe lying still and frozen, all black and light grey in the misty remains of a snowstorm eons past. Despair lived in those scenes and a thousand others, but also a fain curiosity, and there again would be Nott tugging on his hand, and when he would come to, he would hear her whispering _glutton for punishment_.

          But this… this was different.

          He’d never seen a figure, a Shade - because that’s what they were, Caleb reminded himself, shadows of the long deceased – so utterly at peace. The thought left him bitter, and the taste of ash filled his mouth, but he pushed it down and focused on the task at hand. The figure looked lonely despite the way he was situated, so listless as if basking in the sun and not the muted thing that dominated the landscape beyond the veil. When Frumpkin edged closer, he lifted a hand, his ghosting fingers long and thin and lithe. Two more tentative steps and the mist of his fingertips passed lightly over and through Frumpkin’s fur. He opened his mouth and in a lovely lilting tone, softly spoke. “Hello there, friend.” Caleb, back in his body, shivered at the contact. “Your Master’s a strange one, isn’t he? Just standing there off in la la land. But you’re a very pretty kitty. Or rather handsome. I suspect you prefer handsome, a fey fella like you. I get lots of deer, some rabbits and birds, but not many cats.”

          Caleb bit back his automatic desire to reply, allowing the phantom feel of ghostly fingers to travel through Frumpkin. It was a pleasant, if alien feeling, and he almost retracted his consciousness on principle. He didn’t deserve such a kind touch, but he allowed it anyways.

          “Not many people either. It’s a curious thing that you both found your way here, I suppose, but then I’m a curious thing too, aren’t I?” A scratch under the chin left Frumpkin purring wildly and Caleb retreated finally, the feeling strange. He strode over to the grave. He wondered if the Shade was still watching him, still speaking to Frumpkin as the little cat hadn’t strayed from the spot, seemingly nuzzling thin air. Without further hesitation Caleb proceeded to cast a spell. If there was magic in that place, Caleb would know it. He felt the familiar emanating aura and focused hard on the grave. Rewarded by a faint gleam in humanoid shape, he quickly turned his attention to the tree and focused. A faint glowing outline of a hand was stroking silky soft cat ears.

          Hurriedly, Caleb turned from the grove. “Frumpkin, come!” and the cat, while still mewing, followed him back to the road. In a moment he’d delved back and his vision greyed out. Before him was the figure of another Shade. He stepped back into himself and concentrated, but no aura glowed before him. “What is it about this one, solitary grave, hmm? It's curious, isn't it?"

          Without much thought, Caleb’s feet carried him back to the grave, but this time he situated himself not far from where the figure sat, facing the base of the tree, and called Frumpkin to him. The cat settled himself in his lap contentedly, apparently appeased that his master was finally on the right track, eyes trained to the same spot and one final time, Caleb descended.

          “-‘re back again. I’m starting to wonder if you might be more than you seem,” he was saying.

          Caleb took a deep breath and spoke. “He is most certainly more than he seems, Shade.”

          The Shade looked up, eyes locking on Caleb. “You can hear me? You can see me?”

          “Well, I cannot, but Frumpkin can. It is little use looking at me, because I can’t see you. But I can see you through him. You are not like the other Shades,” Caleb cocked his head. “You resonate magic. Strange magic. It is unfamiliar to me.”

          His features whirled, difficult to make out in the black miasma. Perhaps, Caleb concentrated very hard, he could make out… confusion?

          “Well a hello would be nice, maybe a pleasure to meet you, but alright, yeah, you’re not wrong about me being different.” The Shade shrugged and shifted position a bit, leaning forward towards Caleb. “Honestly though, I couldn’t answer any questions even if you asked. I haven’t got a clue.”

          “Hello. Pleasure to meet you. Do you know how you died, then, at least? Perhaps that might shed some light, ja?”

          There was something about the way the Shade’s eye flickered that put Caleb off kilter and he hunched his shoulders a bit more in response.

          “No clue, friend. But you can dig me up if you like. I don’t know what you’ll find if you do, though you’re welcome to try.”

 _Dig up a grave? While its denizen watches?_ Intensely curious though Caleb was, he couldn’t help but batter up against every tale he’d ever been told, ever warning he’d ever been given as a child about graves, about strange creatures, about ghosts. But the Shade was looking at him with an intensity that didn’t seem malicious at all. Just mischievous. In a strange way, on that strange non-face, it was very becoming. Without even considering what he was saying, Caleb spoke.

          “If you would like me to try, I will.”

          Again, a shrug. “Guess it can’t hurt either way.”

           “Hmm.” The set of Caleb’s shoulder’s stiffened, his jaw shut firm. _What are you doing? Why are you doing it? Insanity!_ But he wanted to know, wanted to understand. “Very well. I will give it a try. But I will not be able to see or hear you while I do.” He blinked against the sudden light as he left Frumpkin’s sight. “Hey Schatz, watch out for our Shade friend, okay?” The cat nuzzled against him and then slinked off over to the tree.

          A sudden gust of wind buffeted Caleb as he stood, his ratty coat and old blue scarf blown back. There was a distinct chill to the air now, as the season finally turned, and briefly his superstitions loomed once more. A demonlike Shade all but asking him to dig up his grave? But Frumpkin had led him there. Frumpkin knew something, and if Caleb trust anyone, it was Frumpkin. Pushing out a breath out through his mouth, Caleb made up his mind, very firmly not thinking about the pair of gleaming red eyes, stuck his hand in a pocket, and rummaged through it. He pulled out a small clay sculpted paw and cast the spell, focusing on the area of the grave.

          The giant cat paw scooped the earth out, uprooting all the lovely if unseasonable flowers. Not moments later, beneath small pockets of dirt and rocks, he could see a body. It was reasonable to assume based on the growth that had covered the grave that the Tiefling – he could make out the horns reasonably well through the dirt – had been in the ground for some months, but the body didn’t match that presumption. He hadn’t decomposed, but his clothes were eaten through in places..

          Caleb crouched by the side of the grave and as he replaced the small paw the giant one vanished into thin air and he was left with nothing but himself, his cat and the body of one very curious Tiefling. He was a riot of colour, that was clear, just as beautiful in the flesh as in the transient spirit; his skin was as vibrantly purple as the flowers that Caleb had passed along the way, and the clothes he wore reflected the barest hint of details Caleb had been able to assess in the Veil. Patterned, multicolour pants, light brown leather boots and an open cream shirt, the laces mostly undone to reveal what Caleb could now understand were many, many tattoos and a lattice of silver scars. One dark wound rested above his heart, open still as if it had just been made only moments before, save of course, the near black stain of long dried blood marring the skin and shirt. A meow distracted him from the sight and he looked to see that Frumpkin was closer now, peering into the grave too, as if he was just as curious.

          “You be careful, my friend. You know what happens to cats who stick their noses where they’re not meant. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” Something in him to him to take his own advice, but Caleb ignored it. What was done, was done. And any knowledge he could gain in the process was sure to be useful. After a moment, he directed his gaze up from the cat. “I’m not sure if you are still here, or where you are standing at the moment, but I am going to do some things now and if you are okay with that, um, please tell Frumpkin. He will meow once for no and twice for yes, so that I will know.”

          Two meows succinctly followed. Once more, Caleb concentrated on the grave, and on the body lying within it, letting his thoughts rein in and surround the corpse in an attempt to glean anything. He’d never seen anything like it.

          “Göttern… Blützauber!” Apprehensive, he kept his voice to a whisper despite the fact that he was…for lack of a better word, alone. He turned again, speaking to thin air. “Blood magic, Mr. Shade. I will try something and we will see what we will see, okay?”

           From his pocket, Caleb withdrew a small penknife and flicked it open. Hardly daring to breath, he pressed the tip into his thumb. Ruby droplets welled at the cut and he turned his hand over, letting the blood spill, _pat, pat, pat_ onto the open wound. “Return, I guess, if you are able,” he said, and whispered a word or two. The blood glowed gold for a moment. The spell was… nothing official. A cobbled together bet, hedging on the strange magic imbued within the body. Caleb knew nothing of healing or any works of a cleric’s domain, but this body wasn’t quite dead, though nor, it seemed, was it quite alive.

          They waited. Suddenly, Caleb could feel the Shade’s cold presence over his shoulder, tangible almost for a moment from what he could only imagine was proximity. “Hmm.” He looked from his bleeding finger to the body below him. Nothing. “Well that did not work. Obviously.” The presence was still strong. “Hold a moment, if you please and I will be able to hear you.” He blinked again and from Frumpkin’s perspective, he could see the Shade standing up close behind him, peering over his shoulder at the body in the grave. “Hallo there, I can hear you now, if you speak.”

          

“Yes, hi, um, yep, still here. Is that me, then, do you think? Do I look like that?” He asked, eyes narrowing, brows drawing in close. “I can’t recall, you see.”

          “Ah, ja, from what I can tell, that’s your body.”

          “Interesting.”

          The experience was growing more and more surreal for Caleb as he watched himself and the Shade, who reminded him remarkably of his cat.

          “Oh well,” he continued. “You gave it a shot and that’s great. I appreciate it.”

           “Ja, aber- just because it did not work now, doesn’t mean it couldn’t. I could…help you?” _What are you doing, you are stupid, dummkopf, Göttern, you’re going to get yourself killed, what are you doing?_ The thoughts ran rampant through his mind, but his mouth just kept moving, much to Caleb’s chagrin. “I am heading to this town you see, to meet a friend, and I am very curious how you got like this, and maybe you could come with?”

          The Shade moved in front of Caleb’s body, blocking his view of himself almost completely. He didn’t walk so much as glide, such was the grace and fluidity of his movement. “And just how will you manage to take me with you?” The Shade snarked, gesturing at the body.

          “Oh, em, I have a spell for that. You don’t look dead, so I don’t think it will be too big of a problem. I will reanimate you and you can follow as you are, so both parts of you will go with me. Only, before 24 hours are up, I must renew the spell. I have everything I need, I think. Blood.” He help up his thumb. “And bone and flesh. Your body will work for that.”

          “Fascinating.”

           Yes, that was certainly a word for it. Though his internal dialogue screamed at him to just turn around and keep walking, leaving the Shade behind, there was an itch in his brain that urged him to block out all other thought. _Perhaps,_ he considered, _this is what it feels like for Nott when she sees something shiny._

          And the Tiefling was indeed shiny in the literal sense, the allure of his situation aside. Though Caleb had not been able to tell from the Shade himself, the body made it abundantly clear, covered in all manner of bangles and jewelry, horns fitted with studs and holes drilled through for dangles of various metals. He tore his gaze away.

          “Okay then, I will cast this spell and you can come with me. I can stay looking through Frumpkin’s vision for a time, but I would rather have a bit outside of it while I cast and get us back to the road, if you don’t mind.”

          “Certainly. Go right ahead. I’ll be here, just, you know, hanging about.”

          Caleb almost snorted at the dry humour lacing the Shade’s words, but managed to contain himself.

          “Before you do though, who do I thank for all the help?”

          Caleb blinked rapidly, taken off guard. “Ah, don’t thank me. I have done nothing yet except dig up your grave and disturb your peace.”

          This time, it was the Shade who made a strangled noise of amusement. “Was that a joke?”

          “No. And um, I am Caleb. Widogast.”

          “Wonderful. Nice to meet you, Caleb. I think we’re going to be great friends.”

          With that, Caleb departed his senses back to his own body, reeling from the strange and prolonged interaction. To thin air, he announced, “I am going to check your body to see if you are carrying anything of note, since you can’t seem to recall anything, that might explain what happened or who you are. However, I suppose we have discovered your mode of death. That is an awfully large wound.” Caleb felt slightly strange patting around the body in its preserved form, but resolved himself to the task. It proved fruitful as he found a ragged slip of paper. He stuffed it into one of his own pockets for later and stood, brushing dirt off his knees as he went.

           “Alright then. Here goes.” He squeezed out another drop of blood over the body and incanted, imbuing the spell with his will, compelling the body to rise. It stood, a _foul mimicry of life_ , he’d heard it referred to, and it wasn’t inaccurate, as there was no real life in the thing. Just a body. It lacked all expression of movement, the likes of which the Shade had in droves, and its face was terribly blank. Caleb did his best not to look at it. “Okay, follow me then,” he muttered, feeling foolish, but Frumpkin meowed twice and so he did not hesitate in setting off. The corpse of the Shade lurched behind him, a marionette like those he’d seen at street vendors’ stalls in Rexxentrum, moving as if pulled forward by invisible strings. “Erm, walk gracefully?” He commanded. It didn’t appear to help and he sighed, moving on.

          The small folded square of parchment was burning a hole in his pocket the farther they walked and with a huff he pulled it out. Immediately the cold sensation returned, sending chills up his spine. Ignoring it, Caleb unfolded the paper.

 

_Mollymauk_

_I didn’t have the means to bring you back. I’m sorry. I will try and find a way before you wake up on your own like last time. If you do, ask for me at the next town over heading south. I’ll be making frequent stops._

_I miss you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’ll be there next time. I promise._

_Yasha_

           The note begot more questions than it answered, and the itch in Caleb’s brain worsened. “Well. That’s interesting.” His curiosity finally getting the better of him, he summoned Frumpkin to his shoulder. “I am going to need your eyes, mein Freund, because I need to speak with our Shade companion, but we need to keep walking.” He eyed the horizon. “It is 5:09 and we need to be somewhere safe before dark, so help me stay on the path this time, okay? No detours.” Frumpkin only nuzzled into his beard before lying about his neck like a scarf.

           “Oh, wait one moment!” He jostled the cat back up and removed the blue fabric that hung around him. “We don’t want anyone noticing this,” he said as he wrapped the scarf around the body of the Shade, Mollymauk if the note was anything to go by, carefully hanging it to cover the ugly wound and accompanying stain. “That’s better. Now you may lay down again Frumpkin, süße. And you,” he pointed at the body, “walk beside me. Okay. Now I will go back to the cat, okay?”

           He blinked and was immediately met with the piercing red eyes, like flames glowing in the far distant black of night against the smoky substance of the Shade’s form. Startled, he stopped in his tracks.

           “Sorry, sorry, I’m just really curious about that note. It had words on it, I know that, and I could read them out, but I couldn’t put all the meaning together, so if you’d be so kind, Mr. Caleb-“

           “Ja, ja, okay, just, walk beside me please, so I may see where I am going?”

           “Of course.”

           After a moment to resituate himself, Caleb started to walk again, the Shade having relegated himself to the space between Caleb and his body.

           “So, I think it is safe to determine that you are called Mollymauk-“

           “That’s Molly to my friends,” the Shade blurted, before letting out a sound of confusion. “Well that was reflexive. Do continue.”

           “Yeah, as I was saying you are called Mollymauk, or Molly I suppose. The person who wrote this note says that they were unable to revive you, that they were without the means to do so but wanted to. There are several apologies and you are implored to head to the nearest town south of here where the writer of this note, one “Yasha” will be waiting, should you _wake up_ which I find fascinating.”

           “Wake up?”

           “It would seem you’ve done it before,” he told Molly gravely. “’Yasha’ also promises that this would not have happened if she had been there, apologizes for her absence and says she will not do it again.”

           “And that’s it?” There was an edge to Mollymauk’s voice, a hint of desperation, with which Caleb was all too intimately familiar.

           “Ja. Your Yasha is sparse with her words, but seems sincere. I am sure we will be able to find out more about your situation. It’s several days walk to get to Trostenwald from here, which is where I am thinking your Yasha is sending you. I don’t know of any other towns on the way south, you see, but then, I’ve not been this far south in… well. I’ve never been this far south.”

           “Oh. Well, excellent. And where are you headed, my good man?” The edge to his tone was cleverly concealed, but Caleb could still hear it lingering on in Mollymauk’s false cheer.

           “Trostenwald.” He answered simply.

           “Oh, good! Then I’m not managing to inconvenience you, dear?”

           Caleb did his very best not to trip on the dust beneath his feet as the endearment dropped like honey from Molly’s lips.

           “Nein. No… no inconvenience at all.”

           “Well that’s great!” His new companion exclaimed, and this time, his joy was real. “Honestly, I couldn’t even tell you what direction south is, so I’m very glad to have you. And, you know, I literally can’t recall ever being this far away from my spot. That’s the tree, I mean. What a great tree. He and I had many, many conversations. He’s better for it than the deer and the rabbits anyways, though they’re sweet. But not so sweet as your cat!” A sensation filtered from Frumpkin to Caleb as Molly stroked the cat’s ear softy.  

           “Frumpkin, he is called Frumpkin,” Caleb’s tone was low, but Mollymauk didn’t seem to notice.

           “Anyways, since I can’t recall and you’ve never been here, this is a new experience for the both of us. But I can’t wait to see the sky, and feel the sun. That’d be nice, I think.”

           The sun was warm still on Caleb’s face and he took a moment to really take it in, to remember how he felt when he’d been unable to feel the sun. Its gentle rays caressed him and he felt a pang in his chest at the thought of losing it again, at the reminder of dark rooms and stark walls and a mist in his mind. He curled his fists tightly. “You will feel it again, Mr. Mollymauk. At least, I will try to make it possible.”

           Mollymauk continued to speak, keeping up a running commentary on everything and anything he saw, asking one question after another with amusing intensity, trying to cobble together some knowledge of the world beyond the glen in which he’d been tethered and the shards of shattered memory that came and went with the wind into a cohesive picture.

           As darkness began to bear down upon them, Caleb was starting to lag. Walking all day was not a passion of his, and in his mind’s eye he could picture the comforting warmth of the library hearth and a stack of books by his side.

           “-earing me, Mr. Caleb?”

           Caleb started, and abruptly lost his focus through Frumpkin’s senses. One blink later and he was back.

           “-omething happened and- are you alright?”

           “I am fine, sorry. Just was getting wrapped up in thoughts,” he reassured Molly.

           “Well that’s all well and dandy but I think you’re about dead on your feet. And I should know. So how about we set up camp here and you can warm yourself up and have a bite before taking a rest. I can watch camp all night. I don’t sleep.” For a hint of a moment, it looked to Caleb as if Molly was flashing a jaunty, grin, fangs and all.

           The offer was enticing, and Caleb’s weary limbs protested against taking another step.

           “I can tell Frumpkin to let you know if something is wrong. He can play messenger for us. How’s that sound?”

           “I could certainly use the rest,” he acknowledged. “I will make us a camp. Your body will be fine through the night. Lay down,” he pointed a finger to direct the corpse and it did as he directed it. Upon looking to its owner, Caleb could see that Molly looked rather unsure of himself in the dimming of twilight. “Something wrong?”

           “Well, I’m just sorry I can’t help you.” He lifted his hands and waggled his fingers. “Incorporeal and all, you understand.” Molly chuckled, but Caleb could tell he still meant it, trying hard to keep up conversation, to appear-

           “I am already invested in what you are about Mr. Mollymauk, you don’t need to be useful, at least, not until you are properly alive. So, sit by your body and I will get myself set for sleeping. Guten Nacht, then.”

           “Oh, er, goodnight to you too,” he heard Molly say, his figure slowly being swallowed by the night and Caleb came back to himself. Frumpkin hopped off his shoulders and made his way over to where the Shade surely was, but Caleb tried to ignore the fact.

           The dim light made is somewhat difficult to see, and he didn’t want to cast another spell, so he rooted around on the road for some larger rocks and, gathering a handful of curling, dry leaves for kindling, set the fire with his magic before curling up on the ground, using his arms for cushion. While the feel of being watched did not lessen, exhaustion eventually overtook him and he fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

           It was hard, not having a reference for colour in a world of murky blue and suffocating grey. Molly watched as the Zemnian wizard slept soundly by the fire and wondered about colour. Fire was red and orange and yellow, that he remembered, he was sure of it, but the fire looked to him to be only varying tones of grey, making it impossible to tell for sure. He missed colour the most. Flowers and birds and leaves were all the same, perhaps interestingly shaped or designed, but lifeless without colour. Just like him. He lifted a hand, turning it. The form of his shape shifted and diffused against the light source, black wisps of nothingness. Molly detested it.

           Again, he looked to the wizard and wondered.

           “What are your Master’s colours, my fae friend?” He asked the sweet cat curled up near him, purring. “Are they vibrant? Are they muted? I don't know for sure, but they’re there. I’m sure of it. Maybe he’s earthy. I think I remember earthy. It starts with a ‘b’, right? And what colour are you? Do you match him?”

           Frumpkin meowed twice.

           “I’ll take that as a yes. He is strange, your Master Caleb. But you seem to like him.” Frumpkin was purring again and Molly leaned himself back, gliding down to rest above the ground. “I like him too. He’s not very talkative and a little awkward, but I haven’t talked to anyone in a long time. It feels like forever, but then, I suppose it is forever if it’s all you can remember, you know?” Molly sighed long, heavy, dramatically, just to give it a little flavour.

           “Is he a nice man? He seems like a nice man. I’ve seen other people you know, but no one ever saw me.”

           He remembered the many patterned coat, hung on the post that once stood proudly at the head of his grave. Remembered the day a man had come by and taken it, slipping it on casually, shrugging with aplomb and walking off as if he hadn’t just desecrated a gravesite. Molly ran after him helplessly, calling him all manner of rude names, shouting in Infernal, cursing the man’s fortune to rot. He hoped it’d stuck. Suddenly, though he’d intended to follow the man until he was noticed, damn it!, Molly had been unable to go a step farther and had watched, desolate, as the thief continued on down the road without a care in the world.

           It still stung to think about. For as long as he had memory, the coat always hung there, flapping like a strange bird in the breeze, and Molly would trace its designs with phantom fingers for countless hours, committing them to memory, making up stories for each one. It had only taken minutes to be lost to him forever.

           “I had a fabulous coat, Frumpkin, pattern and embroidered. It was beautiful, but someone took it. Maybe, if your Caleb can get me sorted, I might be able to find it again someday. I think you would like it, but not as much as you must like Caleb’s with the nice warm collar to curl up in.”

           Frumpkin blinked one lazy eye back at Mollymauk, clearly half asleep.

           “Do you think it’s possible?” He asked. The stars winked above him in the clear velvet sky. “Do you think he can do it? Put me back where I belong? I don’t want to be like this anymore. It’s so lonely and I don’t think I was made to be lonely. I was made to…to…” He threw an arm up over his face. “Shite, I don’t know. I don’t know.”

           Only empty silence replied.

           “What business does a ghost have being anything other than lonely anyways?”

           The endless blackness of night was nothing new to Mollymauk, so the watch he kept was unremarkable as well as uneventful. Only Caleb stood out as unique, and so he set about shaking away his melancholy and focused on the man instead. Lack of colour aside, Caleb, didn’t have much by way of pattern either, but texture he did in droves. The old bedraggled coat was torn in spots and obviously stained, but it looked warm and comforting on Caleb. The scarf, which was draped still around Molly’s body’s neck was woven tightly with thick yarn. It looked worn as well, but it still seemed like it did its job. The rest of Caleb’s clothing was just as plain. Boots, the soft leather of which was crinkled like spider webbing, worn almost through in the soles, pockmarked by stones and obviously dusted in dirt. His trousers and shirt were rough spun and faintly, Molly could remember that feel against his own skin, _knew_ that he knew its touch as well. The man’s hair and face too were full of textures, his lower face obscured by a scruffy beard and his long hair a wild tangle.

           In sleep, the tension that Molly had noticed in Caleb before was gone; his forehead was smooth and carefree, and gentle breaths escaped his slightly open mouth like steam from a dragon’s maw. Colour or not, Caleb was interesting and almost beautiful, like an unsuspecting hero out of a fairy story. Molly watched as Caleb’s fingers curled and uncurled around a lump under his jacket. Curious, the Shade angled for a better glimpse, but found none and, unable to enact physical force on anything, was left to wonder until the morning what might be hiding there.

           Despite the fact that his fortunes had changed utterly, that his surroundings were different, that the monotony had been broken, it was simultaneously the longest and loneliest of his life. And whatever it was he was meant to be, Molly knew it was _anything_ but lonely.

 

 

          The next morning’s dawn broke to a mostly cloudy sky. Molly waited eagerly for his new companion to wake, and found that it wasn’t long before Caleb stretched a bit and sat up, blinking owlishly. He looked around, scratched his head and snapped his fingers. Out of thin air, shocking Mollymauk, Frumpkin appeared in Caleb’s arms.

           “Guten Morgen, süße, wie geht’s, eh? Schalf gut?” In response the little cat bumped his nose up against Caleb’s and then batted a paw gentle at his face before meowing and hopping lithely out of his Master’s arms and over to Molly, who perked immediately at the attention.

           “Oh yes, I suppose, right,” Caleb muttered, throwing a glance in the direction of Molly’s body. He turned back towards Frumpkin and then, blinked, his eyes glowing with the strange faint light that Molly had noticed the day before.

           “Good morning, Mr. Caleb,” He said.

           “Ah yes and a good one to you as well, Mr. Mollymauk. I trust the night was uneventful?”

           “Completely,” he replied breezily, facing the cat. It was a strange arrangement to be sure, but options were limited. “Not even the hoot of an owl. Did you sleep well then?” He asked.

           “Yes thank you.” Frumpkin turned from Molly at the same time as Caleb’s body turned towards the remains of the fire, smoldering low. Reaching out a hand, Caleb closed his fist and the fire ceased utterly.

           “That’s pretty amazing, what you can do.”

           The sound Caleb made was truly awful. A laugh, if it could be called that, broke the silent morning.

           “Have I said something?” Molly asked, alarmed.

           “Ah, no. No, don’t worry about it. It’s only that you sound like my friend, Nott. It is her whom we are going to meet.”

           It was obvious to Molly that Caleb was omitting something, but he didn’t push it. The atmosphere of the day prior had been pleasant enough, both of them, it seemed, happy for the companionship and change of pace, even if Caleb was an awkward conversationalist. Molly had no room to talk, he couldn’t even be heard by normal people, and even Caleb could only hear him with Frumpkin’s special senses. It was Molly’s turn to laugh. When he did, Frumpkin’s ears twitched and half a beat later Caleb’s head turned towards Molly, which made him laugh a bit louder.

           “Dare I ask?”

           “Oh, I was just thinking that if anyone passed us by on the road, they’d think you were mad, having half a conversation with someone who isn’t visibly talking back,” He gestured at his body where it was still lying unmoving on the ground. “And then, after I laughed, I noticed, well, I know that you can only hear me through Frumpkin, that you’re not actually hearing me with your own ears, but, when I laughed, you caught it first with Frumpkin’s ears and then adjusted your own body to correspond half a moment later. Did you know?”

           “Erm, well-“

           “It’s rather cute. Say, would you mind, because I’ve been wondering. What colours are you made of?”

           “Excuse me?”

           “You’re all grey and I _know_ things had colour once. Don’t tell me how, but I just do. So I know you’re not all grey, really. I’m just curious you know, but you don’t have to tell me. I can imagine it.” Though imagining wasn’t the same, but Molly didn’t say that aloud.

           “I am pale. I suppose that is not too hard to have figured out. And I have red hair.”

           “And your eyes? Right now they’re all glowy, because you’re doing that thing, but when you’re not, they’re clear.”

           “Blue, ja.”

           “And…” he paused, suddenly unsure. “What colours am I?”

           The right side of Caleb’s mouth twitched up in a tiny smile. “You are a riot of colour, Mr. Mollymauk. You are very, extremely purple. Your skin and your hair. Very purple. And your pants too are many coloured.”

           Molly smiled wide at that. “I remember purple.”

           “Soon you will see it for real.” Caleb replied before kicking apart the small circle of stones that had served as his fire pit.

           “Why are you helping me?” Molly asked. “There’s nothing really in this for you at all, you could just have walked away. Not that I’m saying you should have,” he put up his hands, palms out. “I just… don’t get it.”

           “You know what?” Caleb looked up at him in belated response. “Usually, I would be asking myself that question. What’s in this for me? I have not had the luxury in life to be helpful without reason, without recompense. You are curious and I wish to figure you out. And that is enough.”

           “Ah.” Molly nodded his head. “I see. An academic who’s finally getting to do some field work, am I right?”

           “Of a sort.”

           The conversation paused and Molly took a moment to think about Caleb’s words, to feel just the slightest thread of disappointment stab through him. A curiosity. Well, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he was certainly beholden to his strange Zemnian benefactor.

           “I will be back in a moment.” Caleb announced, drawing Molly back into the moment just in time to watch the light in Caleb’s eye diffuse. In his natural state, Caleb moved much more fluidly about the camp. Briefly, he pulled off his coat and Molly finally caught a glimpse of the curious shape beneath it. A leather holster was slung about Caleb’s shoulders and back, two beautifully linen bound books strapped in securely. He took the opportunity to appraise the rest of Caleb; his form now revealed, Molly found that he was rail thin. The coat and books made up much of his apparent bulk. Against his chest a pendant swung, thumping gently against a sliver of bare skin where the collar of his shirt parted as he leaned forward to brush the coat off a little, a few stray sticks coming loose.

           Dreamily, Molly blinked before shaking himself from his haze. Yes, Caleb was a beautiful if unconventional human. And probably a bit dirty, but that was hard to tell, and Molly didn’t mind so much. He was intangible after all and –

           He breathed in heavily and let it out, exasperated. “Really Mollymauk?” He berated himself, yet feeling whimsical at using his own name. “He’s only helping you because he’s curious and you’re dead right now. Don’t even start.”

           “Don’t start what?”

           “Oh, erm, nothing. Talking to Frumpkin is all. He was giving me that come pet me look and it’s unfair to try and indulge him when I can’t touch him to do it.”

           “Sure.” Caleb didn’t look convinced, and Molly thought he must have been recalling the time Molly had pet the cat earlier, but Caleb didn’t press the issue, much to Molly’s relief. While he’d been daydreaming, it was apparent that Caleb had finished what he needed to do; his coat was replaced and Molly’s body was standing, swaying a bit as it waited for further instruction.

           “So. Are we pressing on?”

           “Ja, I figured I’d eat a little something as we walked. No point in wasting time. It is already 7:10 and we have a long ways yet to go.”

           He snapped his fingers, bringing Frumpkin to his shoulders and started forward, beckoning the corpse to walk beside him. Molly made his way over, keeping pace between them once more. “How do you do that?”

           “What?”

           “Tell exactly what time it is? Is it magic?”

           “I just have a sense for it, I suppose.”

           “Huh. You know, as curious as you seem to think I am, you’re a pretty curious person yourself.”

           “How so?”

           “Well not everybody just knows the exact time of day and can call fire from his hands and talk to Shades. Not to mention reanimating a corpse.”

           “There are more people out there like me than you know, Mr. Mollymauk,” Caleb replied.

           “Perhaps so, but you’re special, I can tell.”

           This time, a real laugh left Caleb. It was a beautiful sound when not overlaid with what Molly was beginning to wonder might be self-loathing.

           “Now I know that Nott will like you.” A smile, sunny if hesitant, painted Caleb’s features into something happier than Molly was used to and he smiled too, even though he knew Caleb couldn’t see it, as he had Frumpkin focused on the very important job of helping him to walk unhindered.

           “This Nott you’re always talking about. Tell me about her?”

           “She is like my little sister, but she doesn’t think so herself. Very mothering. She is, eh… um, well she is a Goblin actually.” Caleb seemed hesitant, but Molly only shrugged, before remembering that Caleb wasn’t watching him.

           “A Goblin. They’re little right? So it’s usually you, a tiny little Goblin girl and Frumpkin? What a sight, I imagine. And how did she become your sister then?” Caleb stuttered a bit, and Molly took a closer glance at his face. “You don’t have to tell me, darling, but who am I ever going to say something to? Your cat?”

           “Someday there might be a great many people you could speak to.” Caleb’s tone was cautious.

           “Well then forget I said anything. But even if someday I’m able to mingle with the commoners,” he exaggerated his accent a bit, hoping to provoke a response. “I wouldn’t speak a word of it. On my ghostly honour, Mr. Caleb.”

           A faint tensing of the other man’s jaw was all Mollymauk could perceive, but it was something at least.

           “We met, erm, in a prison.”

           Picking up that it was a sensitive topic, Molly pushed forward. “Ah, now see, that’s an interesting story just waiting to be told. I’d share one with you, would that I could, but I’m afraid I haven’t got any just yet.”

           “Yet?” Caleb actually turn his head then, as if forgetting he couldn’t see with his own eyes.

           “Well, you’re far more knowledgeable than I am, so what’s your opinion on this – I think that I might get some of my memories back when I’m back in my body. It’s obvious I’ve got the potential for it, maybe all I need is the… push?”

           “I have been considering that and-“ Mollymauk was focused so much on Caleb’s forthcoming theory and Caleb so concerned with watching where he was walking that neither of them noticed the darkly clothed person creep out of the grass, sword pointed at them menacingly.

           “Halt!”

           Caleb stumbled and Molly saw the light in his eyes fade. Frumpkin growled but the reanimated corpse kept walking on.

           “Scheiße! Stop!” Caleb called out in command to the body, which came to a halt jerkily in tracks but it was too late. The man started forward, pulling a dagger from behind as he did, honing in on the corpse. “Scheiße,” Caleb muttered again. “Look, that thing can do nothing to you. It’s dead. A corpse. If you move the scarf you will see,” he pleaded, his other hand moving behind his back, fingers tensing, obviously ready to perform some manner of magic.

           From Molly’s vantage point, he could see the bandit’s grasp tighten around the handle of the dagger, preparing to do something. But what, Molly could not say.

           “A corpse? Walking? But you was talking to it, I ‘eard you.”

           “Ja, well, I’m a crazy motherfucker,” Caleb replied with a shrug and let his hand move forward, the spell flying out from his palms. Three balls of flame shot off towards the man who just barely dodged the first two and was skimmed across the upper arm by the last, his sleeve disintegrating with ease. He roared forward at Caleb, who, unprepared, stumbled again, this time full on tripping, and the highwayman was looming above him and-

           Molly felt a surge within him, something that reminded him of muscle memory, but other, and he put out a hand, pointing a finger, brow tensing.

           “Oi! Fuck, what the bloody fucking ‘ell-“ The man stepped back, dropping the sword and the dagger both, putting his hands to his eyes, now blackened, a liquid Molly could only assume to be blood streaming from them. He blinked in confusion, rubbing at them but it was enough. Caleb put out his hand once more sending a fireball straight into him. The bandit sunk to the ground, smoking, unconscious.

           “I don’t know what you did, but thank you. Let’s get out of here, fast, but first,” Caleb leaned over the fallen highwayman and rifled through his pockets, eventually lifting a small leather pouch off his belt. “Okay. Now we can go.” He pointed at Molly’s body, and gave it a strange look, confusing the Shade before uttering the command to “keep up.” Hurriedly they made their way further down the road. Caleb did not re-enter his veil-pierced state, and so there was no conversation as they went, only time for contemplation.

           The image of the man’s eyes bleeding profusely would not leave Mollymauk. He’d done that, somehow, managed to blind the man, but he didn’t know how. And the way that Caleb had looked at his body, like something about it was suddenly peculiar. He moved farther up so he could watch his body as it followed Caleb’s progress in haste, down his neck, a trickle of blood streamed from one dark spot, the eye of a peacock feather tattooed there. Confused and more than a bit frightened, he turned back in the direction they were heading and tried to think of anything else.

           They kept moving at a fast pace, even when Molly was relatively certain that they’d gotten far enough away to be a little less concerned. Caleb, who did actually need to eat, Molly reminded himself, had not had anything in the rush of that morning’s less than stellar beginning, and it did not appear that he was about to any time soon, but there was nothing Molly could do to get his attention.

           He hated the feeling; helplessness was detestable, he decided. Absolutely unacceptable. But there was little he could do about it beside rely on Caleb. And he hadn’t been helpless earlier. He’d done something with his _blood magic_ as Caleb had called it before. A connection apparently remained between his spirit and his body. So Caleb would help him and he would help Caleb when he could. He’d protect him, because, while it appeared that Caleb was capable of doing some serious damage, he remembered the pale skin, the thin chest, and figured that ‘squishy’ wasn’t that far off an accurate descriptor of his new companion.

           Midday was on its way into early evening and it was clear that Caleb was tiring, but the look in his eyes belied no intention to stop and Molly had had quite enough.

           “Frumpkin you sweet thing, look over here please?” The little cat peered over at him from his comfortable spot around Caleb’s shoulders and blinked. “Your Master is going to burn himself out like this, and that’s no good for either of us. Can you get his attention please?”

           Immediately, Frumpkin dug his claws into Caleb’s shoulder, a little harder than the usual comfort kneading he’d seen the cat do, and the wizard started. “Ow, you little beast, what is it?” Frumpkin meowed and batted at him and understanding seemed to pass through him because Caleb’s eyes suddenly shown with that strange, otherworldly light. “Do you want something?”

           “Yes. You need to cast reanimate again soon, if I’m not mistaken, and you haven’t eaten anything all day. You’re going to run yourself ragged if we don’t stop. You can camp a ways off from the road and I promise I’ll keep a good watch. Really, darling, I get that earlier was… a lot… believe you me, but you need the rest.” Molly’s voice held more concern than he’d anticipated, but it was meant sincerely, the fact that he desperately wanted to talk about everything that had happened notwithstanding.

           Caleb stilled fully, running his hands through his hair, his face a mask. “Ja. Okay, you’re right. Can you look for a spot while I recast the spell? We have about a hour left until it’s really necessary, but I might as well.”

           “Of course,” Molly replied and made his way off the road as Caleb withdrew. The surrounding lands were dotted here and there with scrubby shrubs and a few meagre trees; the sea of tall grass still dominated the area, but there was a dip just a few hundred feet farther up the road to the right where Molly felt relatively sure they could stop for the night with a little bit of extra security against anyone who might want to prey on what would appear to be two sleeping men and one small cat. When he returned, Frumpkin mewed loudly at Caleb, who was sucking on the wound at the tip of his thumb. He blinked, removed his finger, blood dripping to the ground languidly and spoke.

           “Did you find someplace?”

           “I think so. I’ll show you. Follow me.” Before returning to suck at the wound, Caleb directed his cat to his shoulder and the corpse to follow and they set off, still in silence. Another thing Molly detested. He’d spent too long silenced before.

           “It’s at least a little bit protected, and the light from any fire you decide to make shouldn’t be as obvious from the direction we came.”

           Molly watched Caleb with rapt attention as he surveyed the spot before performing the same routine he had the night before. When the fire was complete, he sat down on the ground and pulled some dried meats from a small package he’d kept in one of his many pockets.

           “About earlier-“ Molly began, but Caleb cut him off.

           “Blood Magic. I have been thinking, and I know what you are going to ask. Remember when I first tried to see if I could send you back to your body, and it did not work? But the blood glowed, and I wonder if perhaps it has strengthened your body’s tether to this world, and your control along with it. That blood makes you stronger. Or perhaps it was simply because the fight provided a catalyst for abilities you could not have tapped into otherwise. Either way, I find, I must say thank you.” Caleb purposefully raised his head, as if to look Molly in the eyes, even though he was only seeing with Frumpkin’s. His gaze was slightly too far to the right and it left Molly feeling something akin to bemusement but somehow _fonder_.

           “Well I wasn’t going to let him hurt such a beautiful man as yourself, now was I? And helpful to boot.” He added, smiling jauntily. Again a tightness rippled across Caleb’s jaw in response, and Molly wished desperately to be able to really, really see, with colour and light and everything that what he _could_ see wasn’t.

           “I am glad to know I am so highly valued.” Caleb chewed thoughtfully for a few moments during which there was a comfortable silence. Molly felt himself relaxing, a good sort of calm falling over their shared moments, a companionship that felt more significant, if only for a moment, than mutually beneficial obligation. It warmed him through, startling him. _Warm_ was a concept he could only vaguely remember, and he’d been sure it was just physical, but he felt it all the same, even if he couldn’t feel much of anything else. And for the first time in as long as he could remember, Mollymauk had real hope.

           A while later, his meagre dinner finished, Caleb stroked a single finger gently over his beard and took in a breath. “I have also been considering the discussion we started. About your memory. It is not what you are wanting to hear, I am sure, but I think the only answer to that may be your friend, Yasha. She wrote that this had happened before. If we manage to find her while in Trostenwald, if we have not already managed to return you to your body, she might be able to shed some light on that.” While his eyes could not pierce Molly’s literal soul while he looked on through Frumpkin’s body, Caleb’s voice did a good enough job as a stand in, as he adopted a serious tone, leaning in towards the fire almost conspiratorially. “This thing she claims you can do, that is more than just unusual, you know. It is unnatural. To be dead and suddenly spring oneself back to life? Unheard of.”

           “I sense concern.” All levity had vanished from his tone, and fear prickled against the hope.

           “You were very obviously murdered, Mr. Mollymauk,” Caleb replied, matter of fact. “You have enemies, and without your memories, that may prove to be a bigger problem than either of us are equipped to handle.”

           “Fair enough,” Molly sat back and rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin, thinking. “Well you said that she wrote in the note that she’d be there. But she didn’t leave a description or anything. If I was memoryless the last time, don’t you think she’d have left a description of herself, or does she expect me to go around to every tavern asking for a Yasha? There could be many Yashas, I wouldn’t know. What if I found the wrong one?”

           “We can’t know anything for sure. We will have to play this by ear. And until then…” He gestured pointedly at Molly’s body. “You, em, are quite the peacock, Mollymauk. You are a hard man to miss, with your tattoos and your bangles. But we may just have the advantage. Anyone seeking to do you harm will not know that _you_ are not where they expect you to be, if you know what I mean. If we are to get you back where you belong, we cannot afford for your body to be damaged in any way. That could jeopardize any future attempts to reunite you.”

           “Well we certainly don’t want that, now do we?” Molly sighed heavily. “The world’s a mighty strange place, isn’t it?”

           “That it is, that it is.” He replied. There were deep dark bags under Caleb’s eyes and Molly frowned, considering.

           “Get some rest, Caleb,” he said. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Frumpkin will wake you if anything happens, I’ll make sure of it.”

           “Thank you. Guten Nacht, Mollymauk.”

           “Goodnight Caleb.”

           With that, Molly was once again left alone in the dark, Caleb finishing his evening routine by extinguishing the fire which only the night before he’d let burn. Paranoia, it seemed, was stronger than the desire to be warm.

           Molly stayed sitting where he was, and after a few moments, he could hear gentle snores emanating from where Caleb lay curled up in his coat, the collar pulled up around his head to maximize warmth. A soft meow directed Molly’s gaze to Frumpkin, who was sitting by his side, as if waiting to be petted. He wasn’t sure if his lie to Caleb early in the day had been based in truth or not, for the fae cat seemed to enjoy his phantom scritches and pats as much as the real ones he received from Caleb.

           “You should go to him, you know. He hasn’t got the fire to keep him warm tonight. He will need you, my little friend.”

           Frumpkin purred against him but trotted off to Caleb anyways, curling up over his free arm, tight up against his chest. It was an endearing sight. Frumpkin left one glowing eye open, intently focused on watching Molly back. He chuckled at the implication.

           “Yes, alright, you’ve caught me. But I haven’t got anyone else to talk to at the moment, so if you’d indulge me, I’d be forever in your debt.” He turned his gaze out towards the road attentively. “Or maybe this is you paying me back. After all, I did save Mr. Caleb today. First thing I’ve actually managed to do that really matters. I’ve been thinking about that, you know, what I’ll do with my second chance. That is, if I get it. I used to spend a lot of time thinking about all thing things I wanted to experience. Sunlight, real actual sunlight, and water! My gods, water must be fantastic. I want to know what it feels like to dance in a rain shower, and stick my nose in a flower and actually smell it! And you! I know you’re soft, but I can’t _feel_ it. And to touch another person…” he trailed off, risked a glance at the sleeping form of his companion. “Just a hand on a shoulder would be enough.”

           He looked away, Frumpkin’s blank stare suddenly feeling judgmental, but that was crazy, because he was a cat (maybe sort of) and all he was doing was ascribing his own internal worries onto the cat. Or maybe he was really being judged. It didn’t matter.

           “I think about Yasha, and there’s nothing there, not even a hint of memory. When Caleb read my name, I just _knew_ , but I can’t even begin to fathom who Yasha might be. I feel like she’s important. She obviously cares about me, and I can feel that I care about her too. It’s strange, you know, to care about someone without any understanding as to why. But I know that it feels right to care. And even if Caleb wasn’t helping me out, I’d have stopped that man from killing him. If he’d been attacked by my grave and hadn’t known I was there at all, I’d still have helped him. That’s the kind of person I want to be, when I’m alive. That’s the kind of person I think I must have been before. I want to leave things better than I found them. I want to make a difference.”

           Mollymauk fell silent, feeling drained, and listened to the lively sounds of night, allowing them to fall over him like a blanket as he tirelessly watched the road until morning.

 

 

 

          The next day began much as the first, with Caleb greeting him despite the fact that the wizard couldn’t be certain that Molly was even still there. It was endearing to be sure, and Molly allowed a smile to spread widely across his face as he observed the man perform a similar routine. He cleared away the small circle of stones, shook out his coat, ate a morsel of dried meat, and took a quick swig from his waterskin, all within the short span of a few moments.

          Molly turned away a moment to watch the road again, overly cautious, when Caleb finally spoke.

          “I am ready to be off now, if you are. I trust we had no difficulty in the night?” When Molly glanced back, Caleb was standing ready, Frumpkin about his neck, eyes glowing eerily and his body standing half a step back and to the left.  

          “I’m ready. It was as calm a night as most. Did you manage to sleep well?” It seemed inevitable that Caleb would have dark circles beneath his eyes. “You look tired.”

          “I never sleep particularly well, for a myriad of reasons. It can’t be helped, but thank you for your concern.” Caleb started off and Molly took his usual position beside him.

          “What is it that you do for a living Mr. Caleb? You obviously don’t go around digging up graves and raising the dead.”

          “I am a scholar, when I have the resources to be. Research is my primary objective.”

          What that research was, it didn’t appear Caleb would be sharing anytime soon. Molly could take a hint. “That what your books are for? Clever holster you’ve got there.”

          “Oh, yes, um thank you. They are my prized possessions. Everything I have ever learned I have copied into those books.” He put a hand almost reverently over his coat where one was presumably resting against his chest.

          “I, um, I had a prized possession once.” Molly passed a hand through his wispy, floating curls, streaming like smoke behind him. “Sort of.” Caleb said nothing, so Molly continued. “A coat. It was hanging on that post you saw by my grave. That’s why I don’t have it in this form, I think. Because it wasn’t on me in the grave. I don’t know. The mechanics of this state are strange.”

          “What happened to it?”

          “Stolen.” He shrugged, attempting to pass it off. “I’ll look for it someday.”

          “It must have been a very special coat.”

          “It was.”

          The rest of the trip passed amicably, with bouts of conversation and some of comfortable silence. While it was clear that Caleb liked him well enough, if only because he was a curiosity, it was also obvious that he was not overly fond of mindless chatter, which Molly, so long isolated, had quickly become an expert in. Though he expected and received no answering word to much of his commentary, Caleb took it all in stride, listening despite his apparent aversion.

          “I can stop if you like,” Molly paused his ongoing stream of remarks, looking to Caleb. “I haven’t had anyone to listen to me in… ever. That’s all.”

          Surprisingly, Caleb turned to him with a small smile. “No. It is nice to hear your thoughts. That and, you don’t expect me to reply, so that’s nice. If I wanted silence, I would simply return to my own body.”

          The forthright statement left Molly wanting to laugh aloud, but he restrained himself, smirking at the ground. “I quite like you Mr. Caleb Widogast. You say exactly what’s on your mind and you don’t apologize for it.”

          “You are the same way, you know.” Coming from Caleb, it didn’t sound like an accusation, merely an observation. “I suspect that is the result of your amnesia.”

          “And is it a good quality to have, Mr. Caleb? Or not?”

          “Oh, I am sure it will get you into a lot of amusing trouble. You seem like you would be good at that, Mr. Mollymauk.”

          “Me? A troublemaker?” Molly flashed a sharp grin. “Never! I’ll have you know that I’ve not once spooked the horse of an unsuspecting ruffian or two, leading to them fall off their mounts in a heap of dust on the ground. Not once.”

          Caleb arched a brow at Molly. “Oh, I am very convinced. You are extremely trustworthy and not at all a shameless rapscallion who, as soon as he is bonded once more with his body, will make off with all my worldly goods and probably my ungrateful beast of a cat to boot.”

          “Tell me what you really think then!” Molly let his head lift in laughter. “You don’t pull your punches, verbal or physical, do you?”

          “That is assuming I can actually hit anything I swing at with my fist in the first place.”

           Molly was _warm_ again and it didn’t make sense, to be so fond so soon of the strange, likely dirty, Zemnian wizard, but he was. The sensation blossomed in his stomach up through his chest and he looked everywhere but at Caleb.

          After a lengthy pause, Caleb added, “If you were wondering, that was meant to be a joke, though I also mean it literally.”

          “I know, Mr. Caleb. I know.” When he’d recovered himself, Mollymauk looked up. “What’s that?”

          The shapes before them in the distance were partially obscured by fog, as the weather had grown increasingly less pleasant the further south the traveled, not that Molly could really tell or be affected by it. But the clouds from the day prior had never really gone away, that much was clear.

          “That would be the town. We will reach our destination by sunset, I think, but before then, I would like to recast that spell on your body, just in case.”

          The next two hours dissolved into a quiet blur, as Mollymauk found himself entranced by the prospect of entering an actual town. They were about a league out, and the distance didn’t seem so drastic as the environment continued to change around them, the fields of tall grass giving way to marshier lands, the grasses shorter, bushes fuller, and the ground less dusty until the path evened out into a tightly packed dirt road, numerous wagon ruts criss crossing each other through the mud.

          Buildings loomed above him, and Mollymauk looked up in awe.

          “Welcome, Mr. Mollymauk, to Trostenwald.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few necessary translations: 
> 
> herbstlaubtrittvergnügen: Kicking through piles of autumn leaves
> 
> “Komm hier, Schatz, und wir waren etwas sehen, ja?” : "Come here, Sweet, and we will see something else, yes?
> 
> “Göttern… Blützauber!”: Gods...Bloodmagic!"


	2. 2.

2.

_An agitation of the air,_

_A perturbation of the light_

_Admonished me the unloved year_

_Would turn on its hinge that night._

_I stood in the disenchanted field_

_Amid the stubble and the stones,_

_Amazed, while a small worm lisped to me_

_The song of my marrow-bones._

 

_Blue poured into summer blue,_

_A hawk broke from his cloudless tower,_

_The roof of the silo blazed, and I knew_

_That part of my life was over._

_Already the iron door of the north_

_Clangs open: birds, leaves, snows_

_Order their populations forth,_

_And a cruel wind blows._

        _~ End of Summer, Stanley Kunitz_

           Trostenwald wasn’t exactly gloomy per say. Caleb had been in far more unpleasant places, to be sure, but that didn’t mean the small, lakeside town was high on his list of prospective destinations as far as scenery went. A miserly grey permeated the town’s exterior, its buildings of stone or washed out wood giving it an overall drab appearance. Muddy roads left little good ground for vegetation to root, even weeds, at least it was so at the town’s northerly gate. It was obviously a primary area of industry, and, while the lovely flowing wheat fields that Caleb and Molly had passed through continued farther south around to the west opposite the lake, there was no such thing to be seen here. Markets and breweries, warehouses and shipping fronts made up the North Ward, as it was called.

           As they entered town, Caleb retreated from Frumpkin’s vision, trusting that the Shade would follow him without issue. He was far more concerned with the body of his new friend, which moved just wrongly enough to be noticeable. Spying an alley, he guided them into the shadows, directing the corpse to stay along the wall of buildings for the time being. As intrigued as he’d been, Caleb’s worry was beginning to spike. Walking about with a reanimated corpse that wasn’t decaying was almost asking for trouble, and Caleb wanted none of it. Hesitating for a moment, he chewed his lip before giving up the ghost.

           “Okay, I don’t like this but you need to be more obscured. We will draw attention that we don’t want. So I am going to put my holster on you and my coat to mitigate your colourful nature and erm, lack of grace at the moment. Okay?”

           Frumpkin meowed twice even as Caleb was already divesting himself of the coat, laying it on the ground without much pomp, and sliding off his leather holster. The transfer took only a few moments, and he slid his blue scarf off from around Molly’s body’s neck, rewrapping it around his own. A few tugs on the coat here and there and once more Caleb set off at a brisk pace, though not quick enough to be suspicious.

           As they made their way through the winding roads, Caleb considered for a moment what Molly must be thinking. Over the past several days, they’d shared enough conversation to be moderately comfortable with one another, but the fact remained the Caleb’s ghostly acquaintance was too much of an unknown to be safe. But he was kind. Oh, he liked to poke fun, sure, but there was always kindness and understanding in his words.

           A ghost. You are making friends with a ghost. Your old Oma is going mad in her grave, Göttern, what a crazy thing is this life. You have two friends: ones a goblin and the other is dead. Wünderbar. Nice job, Caleb. He shook his head a bit, pushing off the thoughts. Molly had saved his life, after all, even if only because his one chance at life was bound up with Caleb’s survival. _He could be dangerous in life, don’t forget. All those scars, and he was probably murdered. Don’t forget that either._ But the note left on his body implied that he had a someone that cared, who loved and missed him outright, that he was a someone worthy of being missed. _But you will not miss him when he is alive again and we part ways. No. He would be a dangerous friend to have, and you cannot afford that._

           Deeper into the city, the industries gave way to storefronts, and storefronts to pubs, and,  finally, the destination Caleb sought. It was an Inn about two storeys tall, nothing fancy from the outside, but far warmer and more inviting than the North Ward had been. There were some pretty shrubs and even a few trees in the surrounding area, their fallen leaves a carpet upon the cobbled walk.

           Caleb pushed open the door, holding it long enough for the corpse wearing his coat to step in behind him, and, hopefully, the Shade as well. The main room was fairly empty for the hour, with only a few people clustered here or there, some already in their cups. A woman was wiping down an empty table and another stood behind the bar. The first woman looked up, brushing her red hair away from her forehead.

           “Can I help you?”

           “Ah, ja, I am looking for a halfling girl. I am supposed to meet her here.” Caleb did his best to seem nonchalant, but he wasn’t sure it was coming off well. The barmaid looked him over, but seemed to give her approval.

           “Check the corner. If she’s a drinker, that’s the one.”

           He nodded curtly in response and made his way to the darkest corner of the room, where previously he’d thought there to be no one. Instead, there in the dark, he found Nott, yellow eyes gleaming, unmistakably holding her notched crossbow and pointing it at Mollymauk.

           “Whoever you are, you’d best get away from Caleb right now or I’ll shoot you!” Her high pitched voice sounded heavenly to Caleb.

           “No worries, Nott. This is a long story but you can rest assured that I am the one in charge here and this one-“ he pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Molly’s body, “-won’t be any trouble. Rather, it’s the one you can’t see that might be a problem.” Seeing Nott’s face twist in confusion and perhaps abject terror, Caleb put out a comforting hand to her cheek. “Please. Put the crossbow away. Mr. Mollymauk is hardly an enemy.”

           “What about the invisible one?” She shifted like a cornered animal, her crossbow still at the ready.

           “That is Mr. Mollymauk,” Caleb answered calmly.

           “Then who’s that?”

           “Ah, but you see, that is also Mr. Mollymauk. It’s a long story, and I will explain, but you and I are in no danger right now. It’s been a long few days. I would very much like a nice Trost and some warm food.” He turned back to the corpse. “Sit,” he ordered, and it sat, Nott eying it with apprehension. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

           The woman at the bar was blonde and weathered; she had a hard but kindly look and Caleb felt only a little of his usual anxiety in speaking with her.

           “I’m Yorda, proprietor of the Nestled Nook in. What can I do for you?”

“A Trost please. And what have you for food then?”

           She went through the options and explained the different Trosts in a businesslike manner; there was no curiosity to their interaction and Caleb’s rabbit heart calmed a bit. He was safe. Nott was safe. Everything was going to be fine. After putting his order in though, he wavered, hesitating.

           “Something else?”

           “Ah, yes. My companion, he is looking for a friend. She goes by the name Yasha and she said she’d be spending time in town. This was about six or so months back, but she’d implied that she’d be popping in and out of town until he arrived… ”

           “Yasha? Hmm. Tall lady, very pale. Imposing but soft-spoken?”

           The last descriptor clinched the deal and Caleb nodded. “Yes, that sounds about right. You’ve seen her then?”

           “She comes in here every so often to ask about for a purple tiefling.” Leaning her elbow on the bar, Yorda pointed into the corner where Caleb had left his friends. “And that’s one very purple tiefling. You’re in luck. She’s in town. Usually comes ‘round ‘here for a pint at dusk.”

           “Oh, that’s very good news. Thank you. And my other friend, the little one, does she already have a room, or not?”

           “No room, just been in here drinking all day long, shifty as you please.” Yorda’s brow raised questioningly.

           “Ah, ha-ha, ja, she’s never been in town here before and usually I am with her. She was worried about me alone on the road.”

           “Right. You want a room then?”

           “Ja, just the one, thank you.”

           Caleb payed and was informed that his order would be brought to him, so he returned to the table to find Nott eying Molly’s body uneasily.

           “Caleb…”

           “All is well. And now that I have spoken with Yorda, I will explain everything. But first-“ Caleb snapped his fingers and Frumpkin, who had been perched on a beam above their heads was sat upon his shoulder. He blinked. Molly was seated, legs crossed and his arms pillowing his head behind his back, in the empty chair across from Nott and his body,

           “Hallo Mollymauk. You have been holding up okay?”

           Molly looked up at him, the expression on his shadowy face difficult to read, but, if Caleb had to guess, it looked… content.

           “I’m fabulous thanks. Your little Goblin friend here is quite a character. Please tell her that it’s an absolute pleasure to make her lovely acquaintance and to please give back the jewelry she filched from my horns, thanks.”

           A blindingly white toothy grin flashed in the dark miasma of Molly’s shifting face and Caleb grimaced.

           “Ah, Nott, Mollymauk says that it is nice to meet you, but he does kindly request that you put back any jewelry you took from him.”

           Nott’s already wide eyes grew even larger. “But I waved my hand in front his face and he didn’t do anything! What is he? I don’t understand!” A dagger manifested almost out of nowhere, gleaming in the low light as she pointed it defensively at Mollymauk’s unmoving body.

           “Yes, well that’s just the thing, my friend. This is Molly’s, erm… corpse. And  as for Molly himself? Well, I can only see and hear him through Frumpkin, because he is… essentially… a Shade. I found his grave and I thought I would help him so-“

           “You what?! Caleb! He’s-he’s a ghost!” Nott shrieked shrilly. “That could be dangerous! You could get hurt, or-or-or killed, or-“

           “Hush, Nott, please.” Caleb put out his hand, patting the air in a calming motion. “We do not want to advertise this fact! However, I will reassure you that Mollymauk saved my life on the road the other day. Without him, I would most likely be dead.”

           “Oh. Um. Well. Thank you? Erm…”

           “Molly.”

           “Thank you Mr. Molly?” She looked around the table, clueless. Molly laughed, and Caleb couldn’t help but smile in response.

           “She’s very welcome.”

           “He says you’re welcome.” Caleb told her.

           “Oh. Well then, I guess I’ll put his jewelry back.”

           “Tell her I’ll know if she’s left one off, because I watched her through the whole thing. And tell her, please, that it is only good form to steal from grumpy people.”

           Caleb related to Nott what Molly had requested as she put back his various dangles, adding: “And Molly is about as far from grumpy as a person can get.”

           When she was finally returned to her seat and Molly’s horns looked like a jewelry display rack (albeit a tasteful one) once more, she faced Caleb head on. “Alright. So what’s the plan then? Because I am seriously nervous right now. Like, I need a fucking drink.” And from out of her cloak she pulled a flask and took several large gulps. “Okay. Better. Now, you want to help lifeless here, what? Come back to life?”

           “Well that’s just it.” Caleb looked between Molly and Nott. “I have done some spells and from what I understand Mollymauk’s body isn’t alive, yes, but neither is it dead. And his spirit has much greater freedoms and capabilities than any other Shade I have seen before. You know I have seen many. None that interact with people or animals. None who are not caught in an endless loop of their final moments. But Mollymauk is special. I found this,” he pulled out the note, sliding it across the table to Nott. “on his person. And we are in luck. I asked Yorda over there when I ordered and we can expect Yasha to make an appearance tonight. It seems that things are falling very much in your favour, Molly.”

           “Tonight? Really?” He perked up, ghostly tail whipping widely in an arc behind him, back and forth through the chair.

           “Ja. Wirklich.”

           “Well,” Nott lifted a small, shaking hand, and pointed a finger towards the door. “whoever that is, I hope it’s not Yasha.”

           Both Caleb and Molly turned to look at the same time. In the entryway stood an imposing, monochromatic woman, her pale skin almost white, contrasting heaving with her long, dark gradient hair, which hung in decorative dreads and braids, with blue beads woven in. An extremely large greatsword was strapped to her back, visible as she was backlit by the first striking flashes of lightning that signaled the storm which had seemed to Caleb to be impending the whole day.

           It was most certainly Yasha. They followed her progress as she walked up to the bar, where Yorda pointed in their direction. While Caleb couldn’t see her face, her posture went from powerful and lax to completely rigid in moments, her head jerking in their direction, hair swinging out around her. With a few long strides she reached their table, eyes wide and haunted and teary and went directly up to Molly’s body.

           “Oh Mollymauk! You’re… ” She trailed off and looked around, confused and suddenly wary, a storm of her own growing on her face. Like a giant predatory cat she rounded on Caleb. “What is going on here?” she growled low, her jaw tense, her entire demeanor liable to snap at a hair-trigger.

           “You must be Yasha,” Caleb began as calmly as he was able, though he felt the bile rising in his throat, feeling very much the prey animal in the situation. From the corner of his eye, he could see Mollmauk’s entire being wavering, almost shimmering in place, the indefinite lines of his form hyper malleable. He risked putting a hand out in Molly’s direction. “It is alright my friend. I know you desperately want to talk to her. I will do my best.” Molly’s form settled and Yasha seemed confused, though her stance had not gone even remotely lax. “You are Yasha, friend of Mollymauk, Molly to his friends, yes?”

           “Yes… ” she replied, uncertain.

           “That is only his body. His spirit is sitting there, across from you. And he is hoping that you will be able to help him. I have already offered my services, but you can certainly fill in the blanks. You see, Mollymauk here has no memories.”

           Yasha’s large form shrunk suddenly and her stormy face cleared into an almost pleasantly tender expression. “He’s sitting there?” she asked, voice soft, pointing gently. Caleb only nodded. Like a breeze was sweeping her, Yasha knelt impossibly gracefully in front of the seemingly empty seat that contained Molly’s spirit. Caleb could see him begin to shake again, surprisingly speechless.

           “If I could take your hands, I would. I… I am… ” The words died in her mouth and Caleb could see tears shining in her eyes. “I was not there when you died and I will regret it forever.”

           Mollymauk did not look away from Yasha “Please tell her everything I am about to say.” Caleb nodded and without hesitation, Molly continued. “Up until two days ago, I had no idea you even existed, but I think my heart remembers you. If I could cry, I would. You don’t have to apologize to me, I’m only glad you weren’t there to be hurt or die in my place. I wouldn’t want that from anyone, and, right now, you, Caleb, and Nott over there are the only people I know. Whatever may come of this, thank you for caring about me.”

           As Caleb relayed his words, Yasha’s lower lip began to tremble, just hardly perceptible, and her eyes grew glossy.

           “I will do whatever it takes to help you, Molly.” She stood to her full height, looking between Caleb and Nott. “Thank you for what you have done.”

           “Maybe now you won’t kill us?” Nott’s voice was pitched impossibly high and Yasha looked confused at her question.

           “I was never going to kill you? Why would you say that?”

           “I think that it is a perfectly valid question. You’re so big and I’m so small and Caleb over there is so squishy-“ Nott was gesturing towards Caleb, but as she continued to speak, he found his attention drawn elsewhere. There was a group of three individuals sitting at a table in the center of the room. The warm firelight cast an amber glow, highlighting their figures; a blue tiefling woman, a green and teal half orc man, and a rough and tumble looking human woman decked in deep cobalt monk’s robes were seemingly bickering, casting quick glances over at Caleb and his companions.

           Terror shot through Caleb, causing him to tense up, body going taut like a rope stretched thin. The Tielfling stood suddenly, her full skirts swishing fetchingly around her calves as she began to walk towards them, her compatriots making aborted attempts to cajole her into returning as she went. Once, she whirled back at them, said something that wasn’t quite audible to Caleb’s ears, and then turned back, seeming all the more determined.

           Caleb still couldn’t move, pinned in place with fear. He heard Molly briefly start to say something, trying to get his attention, but slipped from Frumpkin’s senses in time for the woman to stop in front of him, clear her throat and say “Excuse me but it looks like your friend is dead or something and I can probably, like, do something about that, probably. I’m Jester.” She stuck out her hand and Caleb, utterly bamboozled, took it out of sheer terror. “Anyways, you know, I was just saying to my friends over there,” she pointed over her shoulder, “that that one,” she pointed distinctly at Molly’s body, “isn’t talking or moving and that that one, “she pointed at Yasha, “is talking to thin air, so I was like, ‘ah duh she’s like, probably talking to his ghost or something and they probably need someone who can reunite him with his body!’ And I can do that, so I came over here to ask if you want me to try and fix your purple Tiefling friend!”

           While Caleb’s words stuck in his mouth, it was Yasha who replied. “You can help Molly?” She turned to Caleb. “Ask him, please.”

           Caleb blinked, doing as he was told without questioning the order-hedged-as-a-request issued by the imposing woman. Molly was kneeling before him, his hands just reaching out towards Caleb’s, mid-sentence. “-can trust? Caleb, please!”

           “I… I-I did not catch that, Mr. Mollymauk. Again, if you would?”

           Molly’s hands pulled away jerkily. “Oh, I-you can hear me again. Is there anyone else we can trust? Or is this as good an option as any? You know better than I do, Mr. Caleb. My future is in your hands.” The bright red eyes in the middle of curling black were wide and pleading, and, suddenly, Caleb felt something strange and shivered violently. Both he and Molly looked down to see Molly’s phantom hands encompassing Caleb’s corporeal ones. “Did you- Did you feel that?! Can you feel-“

           Caleb blinked away, not waiting for Molly to finish speaking and felt a different sort of cold, sharpness in his gut at his cowardice. “Ah, Miss Jester,” Caleb couldn’t seem to pull his eyes away from his hands, the skin of which seemed, even in the low light of the room, to be tinted blue with the unnatural chill. “I think that this is a far more complex case than you believe. I am nervous to speak of it in public, you see, because of the implications…” He trailed off. “My companions and I must eat something yet this evening, and then I have booked a room. Perhaps we might talk there, afterwards?”

           “Okay!” she replied cheerfully, although her eyes were narrowed. “I’m going to go back to my table now, but when you are done eating we are going to talk about this.”

           Spinning on heel, the excitable woman retreated to her table where she and the other two took to speaking in hushed tones, throwing the occasional searching glance their way.

           “What was that all about?” Nott asked, while Yasha, brow furrowed, finally took a careful seat across from the empty one where she last knew Molly to be.

           “I don’t know. But speaking about this in public is not so good, I think. Later, my friend. Later.”

           “But what did Molly sa-“

           Yasha’s protest was cut off by the arrival of the redheaded barmaid, carrying his trost and platter. He thanked her and gave the bacon to Nott, keeping the bratwurst and potatoes for himself. Without waiting for Yasha to pick up her sentence again, and trying very hard not to think about the phantom chill that still hung about him, Caleb dug into his dinner, very firmly _not_ picturing a distressed Mollymauk pleading to unhearing ears. Moments later, the barmaid returned with a trost for Yasha as well, who drank it all the while never lowering the dark gaze she’d trained on Caleb, and he was left feeling a whole different sort of terror as he considered the potential results of making the large and imposing woman unhappy.

* * *

           Mollymauk was being ignored and he _hated_ it. It left a roiling feeling within him. He was utterly shut out. Caleb, his only link to the rest of the world, was unreadable as he methodically ate his food, drank his trost and resolutely said nothing else the rest of the meal. The little goblin girl, Nott, didn’t speak either, picking up on the rapidly shifted mood. It was making Molly nervous, watching Yasha, a woman he could tell genuinely cared about him, gaze murderously at Caleb, the only person in Molly’s memory who actually _had_ cared for him. All the same, he was upset and a little frightened by the way that Caleb reacted. Certainly it had become clear that there was more to the wizard’s story than he had shared and it wasn’t liable to be anything good.

           A little hurt, Molly decided to eavesdrop on the curious blue tiefling woman and her friends instead. As he left Caleb’s side, he did notice the man shift as if in direct response. Molly took note of it and moved on. The three at the table were deep in discussion. Jester was moving her hands animatedly, her voice at the register of a stage whisper.

           “-really a ghost and it could be a good chance to work on that new thing the Traveler taught me. They look like they need help and the purple Tielfing is so pretty! So! We are going up to their room after they eat to talk about putting the ghost back in his body, which is, like, super neat, don’t you think _Fjooorrrrd_?”

           “Sure Jester, but are you sure this is such a good idea?” the Half-Orc, apparently called Fjord, asked.

           “Yeah, this could be, like, a really bad idea, Jester,” the human monk spoke up, voice rough. Something about her rankled Molly but he couldn’t figure out what.

           “Oh you two!” Jester pouted. “What harm could it really do to try? After all, you gotta admit that it’d be a pretty cool thing to tell people, you know ‘Oh wow, gosh, we are so cool and powerful! We put a ghost back in his body! It was super neat!’ You know?”

           “Sure. Fine. Whatever.” The monk disappeared into her cup, taking a long draught to escape her frowning friend.

           “Anyways Beau, don’t you want to talk to the pretty, scary lady over there? Isn’t she like, just your type?” Molly didn’t think it was possible, but the Monk sank even further in her seat.

           “Jester, leave off for now, alright?” Fjord, it seemed, was the voice of reason. “Really, let’s consider this. We don’t know who this ghost person is, or who those people are. They could be up to no good, Jes, and we’d have helped them. I think we need to consider all angles of this before you make a decision. Besides, aren’t we meant to be heading north?” He turned to Beau. “You’re the one who wanted to make this trip in the first place. I say we talk with these folks, figure out what they’re up to, and if it’s all fine, then Jester can do her thing and in return maybe we can ask them to help. I’m not sure we could take on Lor-“

           “Don’t say it Fjord, not here,” Beau hushed him. “You never know who’s listening.”

           Molly was growing more and more curious by the second, and moved in more closely, not even bothering to stifle his snicker on reflex. “Who’s listening indeed…”

           The conversation, much to his dismay, trailed off after that point and the mood around the table was decidedly just as subdued as the mood around his own. Casting his gaze above, Molly found Frumpkin once more situated on the beam, tail twitching. His distraction lost, Molly sighed in the cat’s direction.

           “Hello there you. Keep me company, since your Master is ignoring me? That’s terribly rude of him you know, cutting me off like that.” Molly frowned, and let his gaze fall on the wizard. “I was just as surprised as he was, I’m sure. He could feel my hands! I… I didn’t expect that, and obviously neither did he. I didn’t mean for it to happen. Though how… I don’t know. And it doesn’t matter. With a little luck and whatever god this one here serves, hopefully I’ll be back where I belong and I won’t be subjected to Caleb’s every anxious whim…”

           As much as he privately groused to Frumpkin, Molly knew it was only half hearted. The frustration was real, to be sure, but his anger at Caleb was not. There was a reason for what had occurred, for Caleb’s less than stellar reaction to their contact. Maybe his hands were unpleasant? Maybe Caleb was touch adverse? A shame then, that, even incorporeal when he shouldn’t be able to share contact with another, Molly couldn’t provide Caleb with that one possibility in repayment. And he’d have done so, even though it was touch that Molly so desperately longed for. It hadn’t happened with Yasha; she hadn’t batted an eye, her hands passing easily through him. But Caleb…Caleb had even noticed when Molly had pulled away.

           He huffed, shaking his head and laughing dejectedly. “What a predicament I’m in, Frumpkin, sweet. Of all the people in the world, the one who is able to see me, hear me, _touch me_ doesn’t want to.”

           Frumpkin hopped down uncannily from the beam and wound his way between Molly’s spectral legs and over to Caleb, mewing in short bursts at his Master.

           “No, no, don’t bother him, Frumpkin, please? Not right now.” Molly pleaded, half hoping that the familiar would do as he said, the other half hoping he’d be disregarded. Mysterious glowing cat eyes blinked at him and walked away from his Master’s chair, leaving Caleb looking very confused.

           Molly breathed a sigh of relief and contented himself with petting Frumpkin absently until, finally, Caleb stood, the others rising with him, including Molly’s body. A very pointed look was exchanged between the tables and slowly the newcomers rose as well, all making their way towards the stairs until only Molly and Frumpkin were left.

           “Shall we?” Molly asked, putting forth a hand in invitation to Frumpkin to lead the way. The small creature cocked his head at Molly, before he vanished into thin air without warning, leaving Molly alone. The stairwell was imposing, a cramped space, sconce light flickering faintly on the walls like dancing shadows as the others made their way up to the room Caleb had rented for the evening.

           Molly, trepidatious, followed behind, staying a few paces away. The tension the group exuded was thick and strange; it seemed to go beyond the general consideration of being in the company of so many people unfamiliar with one another, all with their fingers in seemingly questionable business.

           From the doorway, Molly heard Caleb speak.

           “Why do you want to attempt this? What would you ask in return. Nothing is free.” There was an edge to Caleb’s tone, one that Molly didn’t recognize. “I would know it now, before my friend finds that he owes you something he cannot or does not wish to pay.”

           Molly’s heart swelled. “Oh Caleb.” It was far more than Molly had expected, listening to Caleb protect him. Their arrangement was a transaction after all – Caleb had made it clear that it was. Molly got his life back and Caleb got to pursue knowledge of abnormal arcane magic. But Caleb called him _friend_. Conflicting emotions welled within him, and Molly tried to push out the thoughts, focus on what was being said.

           “We need some assistance, and we could use a few competent people. There’s a man, a really bad person, and we-“

           Fjord was cut off by Beau, who suddenly stepped up. “I’m contractually obliged to get rid of this guy. Not only is he bad news, he’s bad business for my employer. You’d get a share in the spoils after we raid and take out his crew. So, we help you with your f-friend there and uh, you lend us your skills.” Molly heard her stumble over the word friend, but was distracted by the nervous, yet interested glance the monk sent Yasha’s way.

           “I will ask Mollymauk was he thinks.”

           Caleb blinked and found Molly before Molly really felt ready to be found. Startled, he shifted in place, but met Caleb’s eyes anyways. His gaze was harsh and immutable, and Molly, woeful, still wasn’t sure where they stood. When it had just been the two of them, things had been moderately simple, almost routine. Now however...

           “I want to be alive. I will do whatever it takes, but I want to be alive. Also, you can tell them that there was someone listening – me. Each of you makes your own decision on what to do, but I want to live again. I’m no good to anyone in this state, least of all myself.”

           There was a flicker of something in Caleb’s eyes but then it was gone and Caleb blinked again.

           “I am told to inform you three that you would do well to be more mindful of where and how you have your conversations. He will help you, but insists that my friend and I, as well as Yasha, be allowed to make our decisions independently.”

           The three looked unsettled, but none so much as the enigmatic Beau, who was looking around nervously at the area where Molly was standing, never quite finding him, shifting on her feet as if ready to bolt.

           “Okay, well great then, lets get this show on the road, okay?” Jester piped up, falsely cheery. “Maybe your body could go lay on the bed there Molly and I’ll try to do my thing!” She turned to Caleb. “Are you magic? Because you might be able to help me, I don’t know.”

           “Oh, um, ja. I will try.”

           “Oh Mister Molly! Hello wherever you are! I’m like, super glad you’re letting me give this a try because, like, I don’t know anyone else who would let me, so yeah, that’s really very sweet of you.”

           “Lovely.” Molly grumbled to himself. He watched as Caleb directed his body to move (which was still, frankly, frightening) when Jester spoke up once more.

           “Okay, everyone else out. I need a lot of focus for this, okay? Okay? So you can stay, Molly, and obviously you, Caleb, because you’re magic like me, so we can maybe get this to work.” As the others filed out of the room, Molly noted that once again, Beau looked nervous.

           “Guess there’s nothing I can do about our new monk aquaintence unless you can talk to Caleb, hey Frumpkin? I may not remember anything at all after…” The realization floored him, and Molly was suddenly desperate. Caleb. He had to look at Caleb, take him in, commit him to memory. In just a few moments, Molly attempted to recall every wonderful thing Caleb had said or done over the past few days as Molly’s sole confidant and friend. He tried to recall precisely the look on Caleb’s face when he had really smiled for the first time, wished desperately by everything that he knew, the sun, the moon, the stars, that he might remember Caleb when he woke. One familiar thing amidst the terrible enormity of the unknown. “Frumpkin, please,” he begged, and watched the little cat begin to mew and bat at his Master.

           Immediately, Caleb blinked. “Mollymauk is something… wrong?” His question derailed as he caught sight of the shifting Shade. Molly felt like smoke looked, as though he would be blow away into wisps of nothing, but the weight of Caleb’s gaze was grounding. His wide, clear eyes a solid point as the unknown began to close in.

           “I just want to thank you. In case. in case I forget. I don’t want to forget, but I might. So, thank you. Thank you Caleb Widogast. For everything. You’re the only friend I know.”

           Caleb looked bewildered, almost shocked, as if only just recalling the discussion they’d had not long ago and Molly ached to touch him, to take his hands, to feel and to remember feeling, to bask in the significance of that touch. The only touch he’d ever known. But Caleb wouldn’t want it. Resolute, Molly nodded with one curt motion of his head, tightened his jaw and went to sit at the head of the bed where his body lay.

           “I… oh, um. You’re welcome.” Caleb stuttered out belatedly, gaze trailing Molly’s progress.

           “What was that?” Jester asked loudly, fishing around in her hot pink rucksack for something. “Did you say something? Were you talking to me or to your ghost friend who won’t be a ghost much longer?” The moment was broken and Caleb blinked, leaving Molly alone once more. Jester emerged from the bag, holding a gleaming diamond aloft proudly. “Here we go! Now we are ready to make the magic!” She waggled her eyebrows and wiggled her fingers dramatically; if he’d not been feeling ready to cry, Molly may have laughed.

           “What’s wrong with you, idiot? You’re about to be alive again! And around other people who will want what you want. You won’t be a burden to Caleb anymore and you might even remember him. Look on the bright side. You want this,” he talked himself up, fixing his posture. “Alive. Colour. Touch, taste, scents, the whole deal. You can get your coat back, finally. And you’ll get to see if his hair really is the colour of a sunset, even if you might not remember having wondered. You’ll know. You’ll see. You’ll see.”

           Suddenly, Molly felt a tingle in his hand. It was strange, and he was confused for a moment. The sensation was unlike anything he knew of; the tingle became an itch and the itch became almost painful and then, suddenly, he couldn’t feel the hand at all. Shocked, he looked at where it had been and found nothing in its place.

           He looked up and saw Jester with Caleb, eyes closed, fist clenched tightly around a metal symbol, fingers pressed to her lips over it in a benediction. Caleb held his hand outstretched over his shoulder, lending her arcane energy and strength as she worked the diamond in her free hand. The tingle spread, and the itch, and finally the pain.

           “Caleb-“ Molly tried to speak, but his voice was nary a whisper in the black oblivion as his vision dissipated, the man’s rough face the last thing he saw as he succumbed.

  


           Breathing hurt. Everything hurt, but especially breathing. It felt to Mollymauk as if every breath he took sent a blade carving, sharp and bright, through his chest. Heavy eyelids flickered, stuck tight by flecks of dirt and sleep sand. His breath rattled in his chest as it rose and fell, short and shaky, but rise and fall it did. He could feel it, sliding one slender hand up his bared chest. At some point, all but his loose linen shirt and trousers had been removed. Briefly, he wondered what had happened to his coat.

           Molly groaned. Opened chapped lips.

           Spoke.

           “Where’s my coat?”

           Two sharp intakes of breath were audible, and a soft feminine voice.

           “It worked.” She said low, reverent.

           “But he does not remember.” Sadness in the male voice, and familiarity.

           The coat.

           It flashed before his eyes, bright, beautiful maroon, embroidered in gold, silver, teal, orange, purple, and magenta, vibrant and flashy and ostentatious. Fluttering in the breeze on a wooden stake, flying out behind a fleeing body that wasn’t his.

           The coat.

           The thief.

           The grave.

           Caleb.

           “Caleb.” Molly rasped.

           “OH! Are you so sure that he doesn’t remember? Huh? Huh?!” the woman’s voice bellowed exuberantly at the man’s. “Wow, thank you so much Traveller, that was AWESOME! Hey everybody Molly is awake and alive and I did it, wow, oh my gosh, that is the BEST!”

           Slowly, Molly cracked open an eye. The sky stared back, wreathed in autumn and fire, a blazing intensity in the man’s eyes. Palpable relief hit Molly like a cart in the road.

           “Caleb.”

           Before Molly could properly take in the living sight of the man who had saved him, a commotion bustled in from the hallway and he turned his head just enough that from the bed, Molly could see Yasha ( _Yasha!)_ and the little goblin girl, and the half-orc and…

           “Beauregard.”

           “Oh shit.”

           Molly struggled to sit, propping himself up on his elbows, exhausted by the ordeal of being brought back from death; around him, the others looked confused, but there was a light dawning in Yasha’s eyes that looked to Molly much like suspicion.

           “Why didn’t you tell them?” He asked the young monk, who appeared at though she wished to be anywhere but in the open, six pairs of eyes trained on her. “Why didn’t you tell them that you were with me when Lorenzo put a fucking glaive through my chest?”

           “I, uh, guess you remember everything then?” Beau scratched at the shaved portion of her head self-consciously, curling into herself, and the coiled ball of emotion inside Mollymauk split and broke.

           “I remember dying for you. I’d do it again,” he vowed. Beau barked an uncomfortable laugh through her then streaming tears. “I would,” he repeated firmly.

           “You asshole,” she bit out before taking a few steps towards him and punching him lightly on the shoulder. “You asshole.” She sat down, legs almost giving out and leaned into his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” It was hardly more than a whisper; Beau’s forehead was pressed into his neck, but Molly could hear her shaky words. “I’m so fucking sorry. We were outmatched and you paid the price.”

           As best he could, Molly put a hand on her back, patting gently. “Yeah and I’ve permanently got one up on you now. You can’t just go dying willy-nilly to beat me out, it’s got to matter, has to be purposeful and absolutely dramatic or I’ll win forever, you got that?”

           A garbled laugh was the only sound that came by way of response. Molly could feel the cool damp as her rueful tears soaked into his shirt. When she finally moved away, her already terrible, days old makeup was smudged and running and her eyes were red. Beau passed the back of her hand forcefully over each cheek and looked around to the curious faces focused on them.

           “Fuck. So I guess I should probably explain…” One hand rubbed at her neck and she exchanged a quick glance with Molly, who shrugged at her. “I’m the reason Molly died.”

           “Again,” Yasha added without pause. “He died again.” She provided no context, and didn’t continue, so Beau moved on.

           “Again. Right. It’s my fucking fault and I’ve been trying to… do right by you ever since, Molly. I thought… I thought I’d try and do what you would have wanted, but I haven’t yet. I tried, I did. Fuck.” She let her head fall into her open hands, rubbing them up and down as if hiding herself and washing herself clean all at once. “I don’t even know where to start.”

           “At the beginning. That’s probably a good place.” Yasha’s eyes were sharp but her tone was deadly.

           “Right, well, it’s a long fucking story, so you should probably make yourselves comfortable.”

           Molly watched as the others sat. There was a dip in the mattress where Caleb situated himself, the warmth of his body against Molly’s leg distracting and comforting all at once. Yasha stayed standing, eyes trained on Beau and Molly, waiting while the others held baited breathes.

           “Molly and I met a dwarf. Her name was Keg. I’m guessing you met her.” Beau looked to Yasha for confirmation. The large woman only gave a slight incline of the head by way of answer. “She told me about a group of slavers called the Iron Shepherds. They work for this guy, goes by Lorenzo. Real nasty piece of work. Anyway, Keg used to run with them until things got… intense and they snatched her friend. We decided to ambush them, get as many people free as possible and fuck them up. Only, our information about their abilities and numbers was unreliable, and instead we were the ones who got fucked. Bad. Keg freaked, I got cocky and Molly…” Beau trailed off, looking everywhere but at any of the people in the room. “Molly saved my life.”

           He could sense her disease and picked up the thread. “I saw that she was in a tight spot and put myself in the middle of it.” He looked to Yasha. “Pulled a Blood Maledict and knocked myself out in the process. I was hoping to do some more damage first, but the luck was in the cards and not in me, I guess. Spent too much time taking out another of their number towards the beginning of the fight. Anyways, I went down and Lorenzo decided to ‘make an example’ out of me.” Molly smiled, his eyes narrowing as he remembered the look on Lorenzo’s face as the blood and spittle hit him. “Well, so much for that.”

           “But there is more to this story.” Yasha, expression tight, looked back at Beau, who squirmed.

           “After Molly went down, Lorenzo decided we weren’t worth the effort and left us there. Keg and I buried Molly. Then I… I-I went after Lorenzo. I was _pissed_. And angry. I wanted to do right by you, Molly, by all those captives. But Keg went back to look for you, Yasha. She couldn’t convince me to wait. Molly, you’d told us both stories and Keg thought that if we got Yasha to come with us that maybe…” She ran a hand down her face, and sighed; Molly could tell she was exhausted.

           “Keg found me.” Yasha’s voice was strong but soft. “I wrote you the note, Molly, and then I left. I needed time. I was upset too.” She looked down at her hands. Clasped between them was a flower, dried and brittle, but still a beautiful golden yellow, much like the ones that had been growing on his grave. With two steps, Yasha stood before him, knelt, miming her actions from earlier that night and took Molly’s hands, pressing the keepsake into them. “I love you very much Mollymauk. I’m glad that you came back to us again. I’m glad you can remember me.”

           “Me too.” He looked at the flower. “Tell me?”

           “They have two meanings. There’s some…nuance to them. They remind me of you. Graciousness, and also, deception or concealment.”

           “Thank you, dear.”

           Yasha nodded and returned to where she’d stood before.

           “So how’d all of you meet then?” Nott piped up; she was wiping her mouth with one arm and twisting the cap for her flask back on.

           Fjord spoke up first. “Well, Jester and I met on our way up from Port Damali.”

           “And we met Beau just a few days ago. She actually was trying to recruit us to go take down this guy! She’s got some mysterious benefactor or something that was going to pay us to do it, but, you know, this whole thing has been really sad and I don’t really want people to get hurt or killed anymore. I mean, money is great, but I just want to help the people now,” Jester added rapidly, her eyes wide and soulful. “I’m so sorry about that happened to you Mollymauk, but you know, you should really get some rest. I know you were like, dead and all, but coming back to life is like super really hard so you should go to bed and we can all sleep too.”

           Molly nodded his acquiescence and closed his eyes falling back onto the bed from his inclined position, relishing the cushion that the pillow provided. When he opened them, Caleb was looking back at him, expression unreadable as ever. He snapped his fingers suddenly, and Frumpkin was laying on Molly’s chest, purring and rubbing.

           “You and Frumpkin got to know each other well these past few days. But it is nicer when you can actually touch the cat. So, erm, perhaps you would like him for the night. He is warm and soft and mostly nice.”

           “And,” Molly added quietly. “an excellent listener. Thank you, Caleb. Thank you, all of you. But you’re right. I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed for now and we can figure everything else out in the morning. Can I rest assured that you’re not all going to do each other in in the night?” He looked from Yasha to Beau primarily, both of whom shrugged, and caught Nott nodding vehemently out of the corner of his eye. “Then it’s settled. Someone, wake me up early. I want to see the sun rise.”

           And with that, Mollymauk Tealeaf succumbed to sleep.

          

           The world was the same familiar silvery black mist, the figures he shared his extraplanar existence with more active around him than usual, swarming him. Something wasn’t right. Mollymauk sat up in bed, looking around at the myriad of spectral figures that crowded the space, their hands reaching out towards him, fingers like clutching claws catching on his form, tugging, pulling. He looked around, frantic, called out, but Yasha, asleep in a chair in the corner, did not stir. Only Frumpkin looked at him with his eerie eyes, but did not move. It was then that he noticed what was wrong. The thick, cloying sensation of smoke filled his throat as he turned to look, saw himself still sleeping on the bed, eyes rolling beneath his lids, twitching erratically.

           Molly began to take gasping breaths as the panic welled within him and-

           With a strangled cry, Molly sat up in bed,  breathing heavily. The misty desaturations of the world beyond the veil was gone and only a soft gold light filled the room. Yasha was indeed asleep in the chair, unmoving, and Frumpkin watched him carefully from where he was curled atop Molly’s thighs. Gently, Molly scooped up the familiar, hugging his form close to his chest. The cat’s soft fur and rhythmic purrs were soothing and, once he’d calmed, Molly slipped from the bed and padded over to the window.

           Dawn.

           Light streamed in through the dusty pane, allowing him to see a good portion of the town. The clouds from the day before were gone, and, in the light of sunrise, Trostenwald looked like a dream world, dew sparkling across damp roofs, leaves of fire and light fluttering and falling, and the fields beyond, just peeking out from behind the far reaches of the town’s outskirts, were a soft golden expanse.

           “Everything is beautiful this time of year, ja?”

           By some miracle, Molly didn’t flinch at the low sound of Caleb’s voice. The other man came up beside him and reached out a hand to the window, resting his fingertips on the glass gently, as if wishing he could press through.

           “Fessuran is my favourite month. Life and Death in such close harmony with one another.” His hand fell, dragging down and away, leaving smudged trails behind.

Molly glanced at Caleb. His face was open for once, though the emotion that he bore was still a mystery to Molly. Something like sadness, but beautiful. Caleb was beautiful. The light played in his hair and Molly remembered how, the night before, when he’d finally opened his eyes, he thought he was seeing fire in the sky. His heart ached.

           “You are a miracle, Mollymauk. Miracles don’t happen in Fessuran. They’re meant for Dualahei, when everything is new again. You are special. You were born into a season for death. Where I am from, they would have said that that means something. That you are meant for something important. That it was a sign. And yet, where I am from, they would have also told me to run from a Shade, benevolent though you seemed. Nothing good comes of ghosts.”

           “What do you believe?” Molly watched Caleb’s expression change, watched as, even in the soft glow of morning, a dark cloud fell over his face. “What is the sign?” _Did you do the right thing?_ He thought but did not say.

           “I don’t know.”

           Caleb’s reply stung.

For a few moments they simply watched the sun make its way higher into the sky in silence. Molly itched to reach out, to take one of Caleb’s hands, or touch his shoulder. Beau’s embrace the night before had been almost overwhelming, the touch far more than Molly had come to expect. But with Caleb it seemed almost forbidden.

           “Thank you.” Molly’s hand hovered in the air between them, a counterweight vacillating on the precipice of action. “I’m alive because of you. I have another chance. You didn’t have to do anything, but you did. I’m grateful. If there’s anything-“

           “No,” Caleb cut him off, firmly, almost as if speaking more to himself than Mollymauk. “You do not owe me for this. I can tell that even in death, without your memories, you were the same person you were in life. You are a good person. The world needs more good people. You do not owe me for that.”

           Without another word, without a chance for Molly to reply, Caleb shared one final, leveled gaze with Molly and walked away, the door closing gently behind him as he disappeared into the darkened hallway.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oma: Grandma  
> Göttern: Gods  
> Wünderbar: Wonderful  
> Wirklich: Really


	3. 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a brief flashback to Caleb's parents' death as well as some gruesome depictions therein.(Approx Paragraphs 19/20)

 

The birds have flown their summer skies to the south,

And the flower-money is drying in the banks of bent grass

Which the bumble bee has abandoned. We wait for a winter lion,

Body of ice-crystals and sombrero of dead leaves.

 

A month ago, from the salt engines of the sea,

A machinery of early storms rolled toward the holiday houses

Where summer still dozed in the pool-side chairs, sipping

An aging whiskey of distances and departures.

 

Now the long freight of autumn goes smoking out of the land.

My possibles are all packed up, but still I do not leave.

I am happy enough here, where Dakota drifts wild in the universe,

Where the prairie is starting to shake in the surf of the winter dark.

 

               _~Beyond the Red River, Thomas McGrath_

              

               “No.”

               “No? What the fuck, Molly?” Beauregard  seemed more confused than livid, but it was a close thing. Caleb looked away, but was unable to completely tune out the argument. Everything was so confusing now that Molly was alive again. Confusing and terrifying. When the red eyes had first opened with life and intelligence and emotion behind them, staring up into Caleb’s own eyes, he’d reeled with the intensity of his feelings. It was utterly ridiculous, he rationalized, to feel so much in such a short time for someone who was largely, well… _dead._

               And then, suddenly, he wasn’t and Caleb’s fragile state was shattered by the implications of this new and objectively unfortunate attachment. After the stories the night before, after Molly’s declarations and Beau’s confessions, they had all retired to other rooms, Nott and Caleb together and alone for the first time in many months. Closing his eyes, Caleb recalled their discussion from the night before.

               Nott had been watching him closely, her eyes boring holes into every inch of him-whatever part or side of him was available, Nott tracked, her gaze never deviating. After several silent minutes of sleep preparation, she’d finally spoken.

               “Caleb?”

               “Hmm?” He’d responded in a manner he’d hoped sounded noncommittal, but Nott knew him too well for that.

               “Are you alright? You seem… well… preoccupied. Distressed even. Is this something to do with your new, erm, purple friend?”

                “He is nothing more than an acquaintance, Nott, and no longer our immediate concern.”

               “Oh. Well. Alright,” she said, her brow furrowed, obviously unconvinced. “It’s just that you seem a little on edge. You said that he saved your life…”

               “Ja, er hat dass gemacht.”

               “Common, Caleb. Now I know you’re not alright. What’s wrong?”

               “Ja, okay? He did save my life. And now he is alive and while I will likely never know how, I have done my part and he owes me nothing more. So we can move on now, do what we were planning.”

               Nott looked at him hard and Caleb had tried valiantly to seem unfazed, but to no avail. She’d seen through him. All the same, he’d done nothing in response, shrugging it off.

               “But we’ll stick around for the morning, right?”

               “Why do you care?” He asked her bluntly, to which Nott had only spluttered a little before offering half-hearted platitudes.

               “Well I don’t so much, but it seemed like you had… unfinished business, pardon the pun. You know. Ghosts. Have… Unfinished business. That lot.”

               Caleb hadn’t laughed, feeling too uncomfortable, but he had agreed to stay until the morning. When he woke at precisely sunrise (6:13), Caleb briefly contemplated physically picking Nott up and leaving, but Molly’s face swam in his vision, the bright elation present there, the spark in his gaze, the life and vibrancy that _lived_ within his person. Everything the Shade had desired to be and couldn’t.

               He’d shivered then, in that moment of contemplation, for a terrible truth had revealed itself. Caleb was more a ghost than Molly had ever been. The realization left Caleb reeling and he’d gone, against his better judgement, into the room he had initially paid for that night and then left to Molly and Yasha, who had remained to watch over him in a fit of rather justified paranoia. She was still sleeping in the corner where she'd started her watch.

               For a while, all Caleb did was watch the rise and fall of Mollymauk’s chest, still left mostly bare by the open nature of his shirt, the deep, wicked, gnarled scar of light silvery lavender in full view. He shuddered to imagine the slaver’s glaive slicing into the svelte body, imagined Molly arching, imagined the undoubtedly large, crimson pool beneath him, imagined the last, sharp breath wracked from his form, the look on his face-

               Wrecked by his imaginings, Caleb looked away from the peacefully sleeping Tiefling and closed his eyes in a vain attempt at protection from the mental impressions. Flashes of his mother, her warm and kindly face contorted in agony as she burned, burst behind the black velvet screen of his eyelids. Caleb felt the gorge rise in the back of his throat and his eyes flew open in attempt to banish the image. He focused in deeply on Molly’s breathing, on the absolute silence save the gentle intakes and exhales from the room’s occupants, the rhythmic flicking of Frumpkin’s tail against Molly's mattress and gradually felt his heart rate settle. Movement returned to his limbs as the memory faded away again. A few moments later he moved closer, quiet as he was able, and pulled the loose collar of Molly’s shirt up and over the evidence of his brutal death, hiding it from view, and found he could finally breathe easy.

               Caleb had retreated then to the opposite corner of the room and waited, watching all the while. Twenty or so minutes passed before the object of his focus began to stir, shaking, twisting, shooting up finally with a strangled cry. Mollymauk’s chest was heaving shaky breaths, but Caleb stayed stock still. With only a slight twitch of his eye, Caleb signaled to Frumpkin whose head lifted. Molly automatically scooped up the little cat, holding him close.

               Eventually, he stood, Caleb’s familiar still held close. Caleb tracked his graceful form; Molly stopped before the window with impeccable posture, the tip of his own tail swaying in time with Frumpkin’s. The dawn glowed becomingly around his silhouette, softening the harsh lines of his figure. Caleb’s heart felt uncomfortably warm, so he broke the silence, mindful of the still snoozing Yasha.

               Molly didn’t reply, so Caleb kept going. It had seemed logical to talk about everything through the lens of the seasons. It helped to somewhat mitigate what he’d been feeling, but the remembrances were still close to the surface, roiling there, just barely pushed down, and there was just something about Mollymauk that made Caleb’s heart pound.

               So of course it all had to spill out of his mouth, the emotions welling in his heart, in front of the focus of those emotions. And Mollymauk had only looked on, his red eyes unreadable, daring to ask the one question that Caleb didn’t want to… couldn’t answer. _“What do you believe?”_

               It was obvious that the answer he gave hurt Molly, but Caleb couldn’t bring himself to be bothered by it. And then, to listen to the Tiefling _thanking_ him… it was too much. The best deflections, Caleb had learned long ago, contained some measure of truth, so he’d given it and then left, trying to ignore the feel of Molly’s eyes on his back or the tight feeling in his chest.

               Again he had contemplated taking Nott and disappearing into the morning mist, but he hadn’t. Instead, Caleb had taken a seat at a table and ordered breakfast. It was there that he still sat, trying valiantly to understand _why_ he’d not left when he had the chance over the increasingly annoyed tones of Beauregard.

               “I just don’t get it. Why the fuck don’t you want to go?”

               “I didn’t say that. I said not yet, not now. I need… time. I’m not ready and what good will I do you if I’m not ready?”

               “People are being tortured, Molly.”

               Caleb heard Molly sigh. The sound was alien coming from the Tiefling and it drew Caleb to turn and actually look at him. Molly’s eyes were downcast and his posture dejected. “It’s been six months, Beau, anyone who was captured around the time we first set out has long been broken and sold or died in the process.”

               “Fuck that.” Beau spat. “There’s still other people who can use our help. You, of all people, I mean, _gods,_ Molly!”

               “You think I don’t want to help? But what good am I right now? I’m _weak,_ Beau. I’d be a liability and people who might otherwise survive could die if I’m not in top form, okay? I need time.” He ran his hands over his face miserably and Caleb winced, thinking back to their conversation that morning. How must Molly feel, having Caleb say such things _–you are special, you are important, you are meant for something–_ and have the added pressure of Beauregard’s words and, and, and--

               “Mollymauk is right.”

               The man in question’s head turned sharply to Caleb at the utterance, shock evident on his face. Caleb was sure that Molly was still surprised from earlier when he’d found Caleb still in the tavern, surely having assumed that their discussion may have been the last he’d ever see of the wizard.

               “He is no good to you yet, but this is a long journey, is it not? If you take enough time to get there, he can spend it recovering his strength and honing his ability, and then you can be ready to take on this arschloch, Lorenzo.”

               From the looks he was receiving from the greater majority of the group, it was lost on none of them that he had not included himself in his statements, but Caleb made no indication that he’d noticed.

               “I mean, Caleb is right, you know? And it sounds like we could probably use a plan or something, because last time didn’t go so well for you guys…” Jester bit her lip a little, shrugging in half apology at her assertions. Fjord nodded in time with her, but Yasha only watched Molly. She’d not gone two minutes without doing so, Caleb noted. Nott, as before, had her own gaze trained on Caleb. Beau looked between the lot of them and then stopped at Caleb.

               “And I suppose you’re not intending to come with us then?” She asked pointedly, but before she could go on, or Caleb could reply, Mollymauk spoke up.

               “I told you it was their decision what to do, that I didn’t want any of them held to anything. If it’s not in the cards for Caleb to come with us, then that’s the way it’ll be.”

               Beau turned her sights on her friend, eyebrows drawing inwards in scrutiny, her mouth pressing a fine line.

               “I will go with you,” Yasha intoned deeply.

               “And we already told you we would, that hasn’t changed,” Fjord added on his and Jester’s behalf. “And you were talking about looking for that dwarf friend of yours. That puts us at five, maybe six people. And that’s twice what you had last time. Gives us a much better chance.”

               In Caleb’s head, he suddenly heard Nott’s voice, the magical message coming through loud and clear. _“Whatever you decide, that’s what we’ll do. The group could be helpful in the long run, but I don’t like the sound of our chances in going after these slavers either. You can reply to this message.”_

               “Nott and I have yet to make a decision,” Caleb decided finally, much to the surprise of the others who had almost seemingly forgotten about him already. Molly’s gaze lingered on him in a different manner than the rest, as though he were trying to see inside Caleb’s mind. “We two have only just arrived in town and must restock our supplies. Mollymauk, I imagine you are in much the same need. There are benefits to resting now, rather than hurrying along. Whatever you decide, you decide, but that is as much as Nott and I have determined for the time being.”

               Surprisingly, it was Beau who nodded. “Fair enough.”

               By that point, breakfast was finished and conversation was trending farther away from talk of imminent plans and more into the realm of inane small talk. That sort of thing was only barely manageable for Caleb, who was more than ready to depart for the shops. Just as he was about to suggest as much to Nott, Beau and Molly stood, both looking stormy and made their way upstairs conspiratorially. Nott and Caleb shared a glance, and with little more than a nod of his head as indication, Frumpkin took Caleb’s signal and surreptitiously followed them. He pulled out one of his books to cover his descent into his familiar’s senses and blinked.

               “-mean to you?”

               “Excuse me?”

               “You know exactly what I’m asking you. I may not have known you as long as Yasha has, but we’ve spent enough time in close contact and I’m _far_ from blind. What’s going on with you and that hobo wizard?”

               “He _saw_ me, Beau. I was alone, stuck and unable to communicate with anyone, and Caleb _saw_ me. He didn’t have to do what he did. He’s jumpy and paranoid and altogether not a people person, right? But he helped me. Against his better judgement, he helped me. This morning he–ugh, whatever, it doesn’t matter.” Molly shook his hands in front of himself as if to emphasize. “The point is that it’s his choice what to do, where to go from here. I don’t know how you can expect that he’d just pick up and help us for no reason.”

               Beau laughed, more of a scoff, really, shaking her head. “Wow, Molly, you know, you’re not different at all. Last time this happened you became a completely different person from Lucien,right? Well, damn, I completely forgot. I idealized you, you know. I forgot what an idiot you can be. Of course he helped you, Molly.”

               “I-I don’t-“

               “No,” Beau held up her hand to silence him. “I’m not going to say anything. Look. You go downstairs and talk to your wizard and see what he has to say. I’m betting you, ten to one, he’ll say that he’s going to come with you if you really press him. And no, I’m not telling you why.”

               “You’re an asshole.”

               “And you’re obnoxious.” Beau replied, a grin tightening across her face. “I fucking miss you, asshole.”

               “I missed you too, even though I’ve got no idea what you’re on about.” Molly smiled back, his expression one of soft fondness. “I’m not going to ask him. I’m not going to press anything. He’s been good to me, and I’m… I’ve grown a bit attached I guess, but I’ve never been one to push things like that. Whatever decision he makes, I want you to promise me you’ll respect it.”

               A gleam lit in Beau’s eyes, something between knowing mischief and love. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

               “And now you have to tell me just exactly what you were thinking when you were looking Yasha up and down yesterday at dinner.”

               “What?! How did you-“

               The sharp shine of Molly’s elongated canines peaked through the peel of his slowly grinning lips, an altogether unsettling sight. “I was a ghost. I know all. Now, about Yasha…”

               Caleb blinked away, recalling Frumpkin with a thought. Nothing he’d heard had been anything near what he’d anticipated, and it left him feeling confused and mildly concerned. Beau was not wrong. He was considering speaking to Nott about staying with the group. He knew and trusted Mollymauk after everything they had been through together, and while he didn’t have a proper read on any of the others, Molly’s dedication to Yasha spoke intimately of her character, and a group… a group would be a safer bet. Traveling alone was bad, traveling just him and Nott was still not ideal, but a group could give them the cushion that they needed. His plans wouldn’t necessarily have to be put on hold, just temporarily diverted while he grew more knowledgeable, more powerful. And allies would not be remiss either.

               Yes, Caleb had considered all of those things and determined that it was not so undesirable a course of action. The conversation between Beauregard and Molly had been unsettling, however. The monk gave off a certain aura, something that was dangerous if not respected, a cunning beneath an otherwise off putting veneer of brutalism and devil-may-care. It made sense that she and Molly had been friends before. Whatever it was that she wasn’t saying, Caleb would figure it out soon enough.

* * *

               Caleb surprised Molly (and the others to be sure) by announcing the next day at breakfast that he and Nott had spoken and determined that they would not mind travelling with the group and joining them in their endeavours. When Molly had come back down to the tavern with Beau the day before, they’d found the two companions had gone out on errands ,according to Jester and Fjord. Neither had been seen the rest of the day, and he’d honestly resigned himself that they’d gone permanently, so seeing them the next morning, much less hearing the pronouncement came as a shock.

               They wasted very little time, much to Molly’s ire, in getting back on the road, unfortunately sans cart, as none of them could afford one. He’d slept poorly again, waking to similar nightmares. They had only had time for a brief stopover at the general store for a new coat (greatly lacking in stylistic appeal, but functional) and a little shop called _Natural Remedies_ where he managed to wheedle a small parcel of an interesting substance he was told was called _Skein_ , the properties of which he was not entirely certain. In the lax, lazy moments since awakening connected to his body, Molly was beginning to notice that he felt a bit… hollow.

               As they trudged along the path exiting Trostenwald back the way he and Caleb had come, Molly couldn’t help but focus on that hollow sensation. The wind was beginning to bite as the month reached its midpoint, golden fields still glowing in the sunlight, but the edge of warmth that had been present only the day before was quickly dissipating as they made their slow and winding way north, leaving him shivering; Jester made a perplexed face upon noticing, but said nothing. He pushed back the cold, focusing elsewhere. In his chest, just beneath the sternum, sat the sunken feeling. Only it didn’t sit, because there was nothing there to have weight, however metaphysical. It wasn’t that Molly felt light either, more empty, like something was missing.

               The dream from the past two nights drifted back to the surface of his mind as he absently ran a hand over the 'empty’ spot, noticing only latently that he was worrying at the scar. It was something Molly hadn’t contemplated previously. As he was bringing up the rear, the Tiefling took a moment to examine the physical reminder of the trauma he’d gone through. The scar was comprised of a thick knotting of tissue, gnarled from where–he could only remember the experience in snatches–the glaive had been twisted inside his flesh, carving a gaping hole. Thankfully, the pain had been so bad that it was whited out, a numb recollection, and he could bring up the memory without _feeling_ too much of anything. The process of looking back on it was almost like an out-of-body experience. Molly could only recall it from the third person, save for one moment–when he locked eyes with Lorenzo and spat at him. But everything else was strangely detached in some manner of innate mental protection, Molly imagined. Remembering his own death in a more vivid manner would probably _not_ be great.

               His fingertips tracked the blossom of raised, silvery tissue in a meaningless pattern, and as he fell more deeply into the fragmented memory, Molly found himself running on autopilot, startled from his headspace by a hand, a pale, thin hand, roughly calloused, landing on his forearm.

               “You are ill clothed for this trip, Mr. Mollymauk.” Caleb was holding out his scarf with his free hand, but Molly was too shocked by the intentional contact, much less Caleb’s instigation of it, to move. What he said was true. The coat was not nearly going to be warm enough, though, Molly knew, his old coat wouldn’t have been much better. Unfortunately, this one lacked the aesthetic appeal to make up for its deficiencies. “Bitte, please, take this.”

               “But-“

               “I will be fine. You are yet weak and I am used to far more brutal chills than this.”

               Their hands brushed just a hint as Molly reached for the ratty scarf; the contact felt electric to Molly. The moment that the scarf was securely in his grasp, however, Caleb pulled his hand away with surprising speed as if burned by the touch.

               “Thank you,” Molly replied sincerely, attempting to catch the other man’s eye, but failing. He wrapped the scarf around his neck where it had lain not but days ago, strategically arranged to hide the then-gaping wound in his chest. This time, all it hid was the scar, leaving Molly’s hands without something to keep him preoccupied. Caleb had already covered back the distance he’d lost in falling behind to match Molly’s pace, much to his chagrin.

               While the emptiness inside his chest did not dissipate, a bit of the chill was relieved and so Mollymauk fell once more into contemplation. The likelihood of the thing, of course, was that there was something very, very wrong with him. It wasn’t hard to imagine, and the sinking feeling that accompanied that thought was very different from the gnawing emptiness inside him. The last time… well, that was just the thing of it. There had been a last time, remarkably, and things had been very, very different then. No memories, no capability to care for himself, just a vegetable in the middle of a great big, fascinating, miraculous, and cruel world.

               But at least the emptiness he’d felt then–he’d muttered it for hours on end, for months in a row, _empty, empty, empty–_ was the sort that had eventually been displaced by love and support from the people who’d taken him in, by the reclamation of his personhood, his self-sufficiency. That was terrible, though manageable. This, by comparison was the possibility of an unending hell. He had all the things and more already that had filled the gaping hole in his life the last time, and this time the feeling was worse, nearly a physical sort of pain.

               Over the scarf, he rubbed the scar again.

               “Phantom pain?” Beauregard sidled up next to him, dragging him from his thoughts. “Must be a bitch.”

               “Oh you bet.” Molly grinned jauntily at her. Let them make their assumptions. It was better that way anyhow. He tried to drag himself out of the mindset. What did the past matter anyways? That was what he’d come to believe before, and he found it no less accurate in his present situation. He’d only fought Beau so hard because he could _feel_ the bristling vengeance behind her crusade against Lorenzo. _Yes, save the people,_ he could read in her eyes, then, _but mostly I want to take out the bastard that killed my friend._ And that didn’t sit well with him. Closure when he’d been dead? He could understand her need for it. It wasn’t something that he needed for himself, however. If it weren’t for the abductees…

               But there _were_ people who needed help and Molly wasn’t going to leave them to their fates.

               With that last, determining thought, Mollymauk gradually brought himself back to the group. If any had noticed his mental absence, no one commented. Caleb and Yasha were also silent, off in their own worlds, while Jester flirted at Fjord with a sniggering Nott and a smirking Beau as her only audience. They too, eventually, fell away from witful words and into the silence that the weather seemed inclined towards, that introspective, maudlin tendency of the sparkling grey and blue sky as the honeyed light diffused behind cloud and tree.

               As night dropped down on them with little fanfare, the motley group set up camp not terribly far from where Caleb and Molly had last stayed the night heading the opposite direction. The morale was seemingly improved with food and fire. Yasha, though quiet, made a point to sit next to him at every opportunity. It was endearing to be sure, and comforting as well to have her familiar presence hunkered beside him like a pillar of warm stone, sure and reliable. Molly allowed himself to lean into her, and without complaint Yasha brought her arm around him.

               Molly observed his companions and was unsurprised to find them grouped off accordingly. Fjord was sitting across from him, Jester nearby. Caleb was to the left of Molly, Nott between he and Jester and Beau between Fjord and Yasha.

               “So, Molly,” Jester leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hand. “We’ll probably pass through Zadash on the way up and maybe we can go shopping together, because I need a new dress and you seem like you would maybe like something a bit prettier than that, you know, because, like, your trousers are so colourful and everything, and that coat doesn’t really seem to match your aesthetic.” She waggled her brows, grinning toothily at him.

               Unable to help it, Molly laughed, falling back further into Yasha until he was lounging in her lap. He looked up at her face to see a small smile lingering there and soft fondness in her eyes. “Yes Jester, I think that sounds lovely. This,” he looked down at himself, “is not really… me. In fact, while we’re there, I’m going to have to do a few other errands that I couldn’t take care of in Trostenwald.” With a sigh, he lifted his hands in resignation. “Not only was my coat stolen, I’m missing something very important to me.”

               Beau shifted suddenly and something came flying at Mollymauk. He flailed a bit, but Yasha steadied him and the projectile hit him in the chest with a thunk.

               “Oh,” Molly breathed, eyes widening as he realized what it was.

               “Yeah, I um, I took them with me. I just… it felt right. After… “Beau trailed off, but Molly knew exactly what she was referring to. Sitting up a bit, Yasha repositioning behind him, he slid the familiar cards from the case, fingers trailing reverently across them, shuffling through them. “I’m sorry I didn’t give them back sooner. I forgot, I guess.”

               Molly looked up to Beau, eyes shining with surprising emotion. “It’s… it’s fine. Thank you.”

               “I um… there’s…“ Beau scratched her head a bit, looking sheepish.

               “The moon’s missing,” he said, shuffling through them again to check.

               “Yeah… about that… we pulled it. One last reading. It was too coincidental. I guess we shouldn’t have left it, but I didn’t, we didn’t… expect…” Her voice strangled in her throat, and Molly closed his eyes tightly, waiting for his breaths to even.

               “It’s fine, Beau. I didn’t expect it either. You couldn’t have known.” He stuffed them into the pocket of his substitute coat. “Thank you all the same.”

               “Wait, wait, are those Tarot cards? Do you read fortunes?” Jester piped up excitedly.

               “Yes, I used to. And I would read yours except for I’m missing a card, apologies.”

               “Oh, that’s okay. I understand, but oh my gosh I would love to have my fortune read sometime. What about you, Fjord?”

               “Oh, erm,” Fjord hemmed and hawed amusingly, and Molly’s eyes slid from Beau, who looked mostly recovered from the discussion, to Nott, who was nursing her flask and Caleb who had said nothing since settling in. His eyes were glazed over as he peered into a book without turning any pages. One quick glance revealed Frumpkin slinking to the side, eyes glowing with familiar power.

               “I’m happy without knowing my future. Seems like what’s going to be, will be, whether I know or not, right?” Fjord was saying as Molly returned his attention to the group.

               “Oh, friend, your future’s what you make of it. There’s truth in the cards if you want there to be, but it’s more guidance than anything. Everything else is mostly for show.” Jester was pouting a bit, so Molly flashed her a jaunty smile. “Doesn’t mean that the cards don’t have real power though. When I pick up a new deck, I’ll be sure to make it up to you.” He nodded his head in deference and the blue Tiefling giggled happily.

               Conversation flitted between discussion of the weather and news from the towns to descriptions of the coast cities that Jester and Fjord had traveled from to how Nott got along in more civilized places. Occasionally, Beau dropped in a question directed at Yasha, much to Molly’s amusement, which the large woman responded to with often stunted replies. But his attention was drawn consistently towards Caleb and the aching emptiness in his chest. He stood with a flourish, stretching out, the kinks in his back popping loudly.

               “I’m just going to take a quick pit stop by those trees. Half a minute,” he said offhand, not bothering to wait for a response and headed straight towards where he’d last noticed Frumpkin and his glowing eyes. He sidled up next to the cat which was watching the road from beneath a bush. Molly leaned down and held aside a branch. “Hello Caleb,” he said with a smile. “Are you keeping watch while the rest of us make dithering small talk? That’s good of you, but I suspect you’re just using it as an excuse to hide. Which–fair enough. But… if you get a moment later, or tomorrow, I’d like, um a chance to talk to you about something?”

               Frumpkin looked at him from out of the darkness and made an adorable noise, something akin to _brrrup,_ and Molly didn’t even bother to fight the warm smile that spread across his face. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

               When he returned to camp, the others had begun to spread themselves out into makeshift sleeping arrangements; Caleb, who was up and moving again, gave Molly a slight nod before curling up nearby the fire, Nott cocooned by his significantly larger form and Frumpkin in a tight ball on top of her. Beau had volunteered for watch with Yasha and Fjord and Jester each were already making themselves as comfortable as possible.

               It was strangely significant to Molly that the last time he’d camped out anywhere, he hadn’t needed to sleep and felt suddenly bereft as to what he ought to do. His mid-motion pause attracted Yasha’s attention. Without warning, her firm arms were around him, holding him close as she whispered into his ear: “When my watch is up, I’ll sleep by you. We all agreed you need the rest the most of us all right now, so you don’t have a watch tonight.”

               As she pulled away, smiling that same small, tight smile that he knew and loved, her warmth did not seem to leave with her, and Molly basked in it as best as he could before curling up before the fire to rest. He only stirred at shift change when he felt Yasha laying down beside him some hours later, before drifting back away.

              

               When Molly opened his eyes that morning, the sky above him was black and the sun, which was cresting the rolling hills, was a stark white. A mist of rain hung about the camp in a soft clinging, wisping grey, an immobile curtain of droplets struck still as they fell. A shadow crept upon him and Molly’s eyes widened. A gruesome, indistinguishable form stood over him, rattling strange half breaths, although its mangled chest didn’t move with the sound. A small hand axe rested firmly in the remnants of its shoulder. One bony hand reached towards him, clutching, but Molly couldn’t move, petrified. The insubstantial form of its fingers breached his clothes, the skin of his chest, reaching, reaching, clutching grabbing, _wrenching_ at the place inside him that felt so empty and his own breath caught, snagged on terror.

               Just behind the Shade’s form, two pinpricks of glowing blue came into Molly’s view; lunging towards Molly and through the Shade, the owner of the eyes landing squarely on Molly’s chest. The Shade, with an earsplitting screech dissipated and reformed a ways away, watching closely, almost leering, with sharp golden eyes. Frumpkin looked down at Molly, who smiled in relief, promptly lost consciousness, and knew no more.

* * *

               Caleb had last watch. He’d offered to take it, figuring that he and Molly could get their chat in that morning if he woke the Tiefling a little before the others. He didn’t mind being awake for the rising of the sun either; it was always a beautiful sight, especially after spending so many years locked away, first at the mental institution and then again in prison. Caleb shook off the remembrance and blinked into Frumpkin for a perimeter check. He’d set the silver string as an alarm the night before, but one could never be too sure.

               It took only a few minutes for Frumpkin to casually traverse the outer boundaries of their immediate area, and Caleb noticed nothing untoward. As he rounded back onto his immediate location however, a black figure, trailing whorls of smoke and darkness, loomed over the still form of Mollymauk, his eyes open wide, petrified in fear. Its hand was pressed into his chest, and Caleb imagined that if Molly had been capable of making a sound, whatever it would have been, would have been a sound of pain. His beautiful face was lit with it. Caleb had never seen the like.

               Without thinking, he urged Frumpkin to jump, leaping through the creature which shrieked and disappeared. Molly’s eyes were welling over with tears as he smiled at Caleb through Frumpkin briefly before passing out.

               Caleb turned. The Shade was still there, shifting back and forth, hostile, hands still out and grasping at Mollymauk. He willed his body to stand, knees shaking, still watching through his familiar’s eyes as the Shade wavered, looking half ready to flee, half ready to advance on Molly’s prone and helpless form once more.

               “Go away.” Caleb said, voice unsteady. He squared his shoulders and tried again. “You cannot have this one. I tell you now to go, or I will make it bad for you, do you understand? I will dispel your spirit away to farther realms and you will never again transverse this plane. Begone!” He held out a hand threateningly, allowing a golden glow to start as he prepared to cast his globules of light in a bluff. The Shade moved backwards through the nearest tree and disappeared. Caleb let the spell fall, amazed momentarily at his success.

               As he couldn’t be sure it was truly gone, Caleb erred on the side of caution, keeping his spectral sight and watching from outside as he willed his body to check Mollymauk for a pulse. It was slow, sluggish, but present. The rest of the camp slept on, none the wiser. Half an hour later, Caleb felt that they were about as safe as they were ever going to be and released Frumpkin, sliding his awareness back into his own body.

               It was then that he gently made to rouse Mollymauk, whose breathing had evened out eventually, and had finally stirred a little a few minutes before, returning to sleep from his faint. “Mollymauk,” Caleb whispered. “Molly, wake, please.”

               Molly gave a halfhearted groan, as one of his hands came up to rub the spot on his chest where the Shade had reached its hand. His eyes flickered open, taking a few moments to focus. “Caleb?” He rasped. “What’s–I–“ Something must have clicked in Molly’s brain, because he sat up rather suddenly, bringing his other hand to his chest as well, and a gleam of fear shot through his expression.

               “Do you remember what happened to you?” Caleb asked, wasting no time.

               “A Shade. It wanted… It tried…”He looked from his chest and up into Caleb’s concerned eyes. “That really happened. It wasn’t just a dream.” It was more realization than question and Caleb instinctively reached out a hand, letting it fall on Molly’s shoulder as a grounding point. “You saved me, Caleb. Thank you.”

               “Yes, but from what fate and why?” Caleb let his hand slide away but held it out for Molly to take. Together they stood. “Perhaps it is a good time for us to have our chat, ja?”

               Caleb walked off a ways, still within sight of the camp, but out of earshot, Molly following somewhat gingerly. Whether out of lingering pain or fear, Caleb didn’t know. For a while, they said nothing, and the air between them trembled with the weight of words unsaid.

               “Something is wrong with me, Caleb. Something is wrong with me and the spirit world knows it.” Molly’s tone was low and dark.

               Thinking, Caleb rubbed the scruff of his beard. “Is this similar to what happened to you the other morning? When you woke shaking?” From his peripherals, Caleb saw Molly’s head turn to him sharply at the revelation that Caleb had been watching him that morning for far longer than he’d thought. Caleb couldn’t find it within him to apologize and simply waited.

               “Yes.” Molly uttered the word with a strangled sort of hysterical laugh, the kind that only came from desperation. Caleb’s stomach lurched at the wrecked sound, so he staunchly kept his gaze on the ever brightening horizon.

               “I can find no evidence that there is anything physically wrong with you. Perhaps your experience, the particulars of it, ja? Perhaps that and the fact that this is not the first time you have been in this situation, make you enticing to the other Shades? I… That is, I am unsure, but, were you physically, erm, did it hurt?” Caleb stumbled pitifully over his words, sneaking glances at Molly as he spoke.

               He touched the spot on his chest again. “Not physical pain, no.”

               “In all my research, in all the stories from my childhood, Shades as we know them could not harm the living without influencing the physical world around them to do so. A candle knocked over causing a fire, a horse spooked running someone over, ja? Those sorts of things. Perhaps you only share a kindred with them now, maybe they sense your history in some way?”

               “That among other things,” came Molly’s cryptic answer. Forcibly, Caleb was reminded that he knew comparatively little of Mollymauk, despite having, only two days prior declared him a good person.

               _Scheiße! Where is your head, Caleb? Trust is a foolish thing to deal out without a care._ Everything was too confusing around Mollymauk and Caleb wished suddenly that he was far, far away, back to the time when he and Nott were living together in the woods, away from all the world. _What have I gotten myself into?_

               “Eh, um,” Caleb mumbled, realizing that it had been several minutes since Mollymauk had last spoken, though it hadn’t seemed to phase the other man. “Both times this has happened at dawn, ja? So, perhaps we just are sure to wake you before then until something can be done about this. I do not have the means to do any research on this now.”

               “You’ll wake me?” Molly asked him. Finally willing himself to turn, Caleb took in Molly’s expression. Earnestness lay open across his features. Caleb understood a few things about Mollymauk from the past several days, one of which being that his personality was not geared towards open vulnerability, that the circumstances were weighing on him rather more heavily that he was letting on to the others, particularly Yasha and Beau. How he had acted prior to the reunion to his body, if Caleb’s guess was accurate, was a better approximation of his usual demeanor. Jaunty smiles, fond teasing and awe for the world. No, the timidity he showed only to Caleb; the strange bond that had grown up between them in so short a time was Molly’s only outlet for his fear and disquiet.

               “I will wake you, Mollymauk.”

               “No need to tell the others. I’ll have my very own brave wizard to keep me safe.” The humour in Molly’s voice was miraculously genuine, as was the rakish arch of one of his fine violet brows.

               Caleb’s cheeks warmed, and he cast his eyes downward before coughing to mask his embarrassment. “So, you wanted to speak to me about something?”

               “Oh, um,” Molly floundered a bit and Caleb frowned. “I wanted to ask you-well, it’s not really important, I guess. I just… Can you tell me one of those stories? You know, the ones that you heard as a child?”

               Caleb’s brows shot up towards his hairline. “You want to know a frightening Märchen about Shades?” Molly nodded, flashing a grin; this time, Caleb wasn’t so sure of its sincerity, but proceeded anyways with a shrug. “Ja, okay, so all of the fairy stories I was told start with ‘Es war ein Mal’ _,_ that’s em, ‘Once upon a time’ in common, I think.

 

               _‘Once upon a time, there was a poor woman with two kinder and the youngest one had to go into the forest every day to fetch wood for the fire. On that day, when he went quite a ways to find it, another child, a little one, but very strong, came up to him from nowhere and helped him gather the wood and carried it up to the first child’s house. But then he just, em, disappeared. So the child told his Mutter about this all happening, but she didn’t believe him. And then, maybe a day later, I think, the child brought a rose to his mother and said that the vanishing child gave it to him and that when the rose was in full blossom he would come once again. But his Mutter didn’t believe him and she, like all good mothers, put the rose into a vase, ja? One morning the child did not get up so his Mutter went to his room and found him lying there dead and when she went back to the kitchen, the rose was in full bloom.’_

 

               Caleb took a breath as he finished the short tale before looking to Molly for his reaction. He appeared contemplative if nothing else. “So basically, it’s ‘do your own chores or you’ll die’?” he asked, mischief present in the sparkling of his red eyes, in the dimples at the corners of his mouth, and in the round fullness to the apples of his cheeks–Caleb shook his head to dispel the cloying thoughts, though it also passed well for admonishment against Molly’s joking.

               “My own Mutti always said that seeing spirits, accepting their help, or their gifts comes with a price. That no matter how kind they may seem, no good may come of it.”

               “And what about me?”

               The question was sneakily similar to that which Molly had asked him the first morning after the ritual.

               “I suppose it’s too soon to tell, but I do not think that you were ever much akin to that thing that was on you this morning,” he mused matter-of-fact. The Shade that had attacked Molly had looked almost hungry. Molly had only ever been quick witted and kind, not maudlin or murderous. “I suppose the only way to know if you are a harbinger of death is to wait and see if I do not wake up one of these mornings, but I find that improbable.”

               “Good to know. I’d hate to be the cause of your death after everything you’ve done for me.”

               The morning had broken fully by that point and a mild rustling from behind alerted them to the gradual waking of their companions. A few orange and yellow leaves blew past them, the breeze picking up Molly’s curls and gently wafting the mess of Caleb’s hair.

               “All things considered,” Molly said suddenly, “I’m happy. Nothing is the same as it was before I died again and everything is changing around me, but I’m happy. I’m alive, I’m with friends and other good company. The world is beautiful right now, and I’m living in it. And that’s enough for me, Caleb. That’s enough for me.”

               The warmth of the sun’s rays lit on Molly, his eyes closed and arms raised as if embracing the world. On his horns, his jewelry sparkled in the sun and across his cheeks a pink glow settled. At once, Caleb experienced the desire to look away, and the complete inability to do so. Mollymauk had died twice, and still he found goodness in the world. At Caleb’s feet, more leaves the colours of flame rustled and he felt caught between pity and envy. Everything good had already been or had the potential to be tainted; he knew that better than anyone. Yet, here Molly stood, the grave twice defied, dark shadows literally looming over him, and still he smiled at the sun.

               Blank faced, Caleb left Molly to bask in the light, turning his back to the sunrise to return to camp.

               Fjord was hunched up on himself in front of the weak remains of the fire, nibbling on rations between the occasional shiver. Beside him, Jester seemed unaffected by the brisk wind and munched happily away at a sweet roll, picking a fuzzy off of the gooey frosting before taking another large bite.

               “Where did you get that?” Caleb asked as he sat down beside Nott who was munching on some day old bacon.

               “My bag,” Jester answered, shrugging it off. “I like sweet things, so I just keep a bunch of them in my bag for when I can’t get fresh, you know?” She chewed thoughtfully for a moment before asking through her bite, “Where’s Molly?”

               “Enjoying the fresh air.”

               Without prompting, Nott handed Caleb some bacon before continuing to devour her own stash. In the distance, Caleb could see Beau working through several combat forms and meditative poses.

               Yasha sat quietly, watching the sky, hand brushing the dewy grass, wet with the gentle misting rain from the night before. She looked down at him, disarming him with a striking gaze. It felt almost as though she could see through him, as though with only a look she was telling him that she _knew_ something was not quite right. All the same, the large woman only narrowed her eyes before looking back up at the sky.

               As Jester finished her roll, she began to rummage around in her bag, pulling out a large map and unrolling it on her lap. “So we’re somewhere between Trostenwald and um, Alfield I think, and if we keep on the road that does take us through Zadash! Which means clothes shopping for Molly and I!” she said in a sing-song tone.

               “What about Molly now?” the man himself asked as he returned to camp. In the distance, Beau was also heading back, seemingly done with whatever morning routine it was that she’d been practicing.

               “We’re definitely going to probably go through Zadash, so we can get nice clothes like we talked about last night.”

               Fjord looked as though the mention of shopping was about to make him spontaneously combust, an image which both amused Caleb and sickened him, so instead he pushed it back, looked at the blue Tiefling. “Definitely probably, eh? Now I know that I am Zemnian but even I am not sure that those two things can be happening at once.”

               Jester stuck her tongue out at him, glaring playfully as Beau made it back to camp. “Oh, um, hey, good morning,” she said, obviously to Yasha exclusively, who looked akin to a spooked deer. She glanced around and, as if to be sure it was indeed she who was being addressed, touched a hand to her own chest questioningly. Beau continued without noticing the other woman’s confusion. “I was um, doing the practice stuff. Monk. Practice. Stuff. Yeah,” she finished lamely, a dumbstruck smile on her face.

               Mollymauk, true to form, absolutely cackled while Jester brought clasped hands to her chin grinning widely and fluttering her eyelashes dramatically as Fjord rolled his eyes.

               “Oh. Um,” Yasha scratched the side of her head. “Yeah. You, um. It looked good.”

               “You’re both hopeless,” Molly lamented, sitting down with a flourish between Caleb and Yasha, who was blinking in confusion at intervals. “Anyways, yes, Zadash. How far away is that?”

               “We’ll have to go through Alfield, you are right, Jester.” Caleb had finished with his breakfast and was taking out his spell components, reorganizing and ordering them for the day. “I came past there on my way down. We are not so far away. I believe it is likely that, at the right pace, we can reach there this night. It is… I was not far past there when I met you, Mollymauk.”

               “Is it a big town, Caleb?” Nott asked.

               “No, not so much. There are many halflings there. You will do nicely in those surroundings I think. But it will take us until after dusk, I am sure, even if we were to leave directly. Perhaps we ought to finish and get going, ja?”

               It didn’t take much convincing to get the group moving after that. The sun grew warmer as the day went on, and the breeze had less of a bite coming up from the south for a change, much to the majority of the allies’ contentment. They encountered little by way of disturbances: a small herd of bison-like creatures and a briefly tense moment where Molly, Caleb, Yasha and Beau all exchanged an uncomfortable glance as they passed by the glade where Molly’s empty grave was located. As night descended to Molly and Beau’s good-natured bickering, Nott sidled up to Caleb and pulled out her copper wire, whispering into it.

               _“Did something happen this morning? I thought you seemed a little… on edge. You can reply to this message.”_

               Caleb muttered in return. _“It was nothing. Just some talk between Mr. Mollymauk and I.”_

               _“If he hurts you, I’ll - I’ll eat his toes. You can reply to this message.”_

               In the end, Caleb couldn’t help but huff a laugh. _“He is not going to hurt me. Please do not eat his toes or anyone’s, no matter what should happen to me. I am not so sure that toes are very sanitary things to be eating.”_

               _“Do you think he can smell fear? I’ve heard that Tieflings can smell fear. The blue one is nice but sometimes when she smiles, it reminds me of what I probably look like to a rat that’s about to become dinner. You can reply to this message.”_

               _“I am fairly certain that Jester only eats pastries, so I don’t think you have reason to worry.”_

               _“Well that big one, then. Maybe I ought to give her flowers. I saw her admiring some before you came back to camp this morning. Maybe then she won’t kill me. You can reply to this message.”_

               _“No one here is going to kill you, Nott.”_ Caleb reached out a hand and ruffled her hair fondly. In the darkness, Caleb thought he could make out her fond scowl, but it was hard to tell.

               _“I don’t believe you. I'm gonna do it anyways. I’ll get enough flowers for both of us. It’s no good at all if she doesn’t kill me, but kills you instead. And she was glaring at you this morning. That related to your ‘nothing talk’ with the purple one? You can reply to this message.”_

               _“Whatever will make you feel safe, my friend,”_ was all Caleb deigned to respond. Conversation between all members of the party fell away as those with dark vision paid closer attention to their surroundings than before now that the light was lower and the others could see less. The sounds of the Fessuran evening were myriad: the last of summer’s bugs squeaking and creeping, small rodents wriggling through the grass and the inconstant whisper of the wind all offset the footfalls of the party along the tightly packed road.

               Caleb found his mind wandering as he followed his companions blindly in the dark. There had been something that Molly was going to share with him during their ‘nothing talk’ as Nott had called it, and it wasn’t about some Zemnian fairy tale. No, there was something else. Something that was likely more serious in nature. Those thoughts naturally led the inquisitive wizard back to his considerations of the Bloodmagic abilities that the Tiefling had displayed. There’d been no talk of it since his resurrection, Caleb having assumed that upon regaining his memories, Mollymauk was probably no longer in the dark about what he could do and why. _But you could still ask, you know_ , he reminded himself. _If this ability allowed Mollymauk to rise from the grave… that is a great power and Bloodmagic is a rare gift. He is friendly with you and it could not hurt to ask for information directly from the source, especially now that we will be travelling together for the foreseeable future._

               But there was still no guarantee that Molly would be willing to speak about it, no matter how friendly and open he’d been, he’d still withheld something. Additionally, there was still the unfortunate matter of the Shades’ attraction to Molly, which was surely weighing heavily on the man. Caleb didn’t want to press his luck. _Perhaps, when you are in Zadash, after there has been some passage of time and we are in one place for a little while. A place with libraries, probably. Where I can do all manner of research. Yes, then. Then I will ask._

               Mind made up, Caleb attempted to take in his surroundings. In the distance, he could see a faint flicker of light. The other had seen it too and their pace sped up considerably in an attempt to outrace the drawing blackness of deep night.

               Alfield bled out of the darkness, torches affixed to the occasional partitions, their golden glow a warming sight. They entered the town unhindered almost a half an hour later. The hour, Caleb knew, was 9:43, and very few persons were out on the streets, though some noise could be heard from within a few public buildings, likely alehouses or inns. One of the Crownsguard rounded a corner, and Caleb looked hurriedly to Nott, but, much to his relief, she was already disguised as a small halfling girl. The half-even guard came up to them, appraising them with a finely creased brow. They had longish platinum blonde hair and their armour was slightly nicer than some that they’d seen on guards before.

               “Good eve’n. My name is Watchmaster Bryce Feelid. Can I help you folk?” They were obviously discerning, attempting to gauge just how much of a problem the strange group was liable to cause. It was Fjord who spoke up.

               “Ah, yes, Good evenin’ to you too, Watchmaster. My name is Fjord and these are my companions. We’re just looking for a place to bed down in safety and relative comfort after our long days on the road up from Trostenwald. Would you happen to know someplace that would be able to provide those things at this, unfortunately, late hour?”

               Caleb had to hand it to the half-orc, he was very well spoken. Bryce’s face opened up, their features pleasant. “Of course. There are a few locations. Unfortunately, we just had a commerce caravan come in this afternoon, so I’m afraid that the Candleglow Inn, which I would normally recommend, is booked full. But there is a room at the Feed and Mead Tavern which is likely available.” They pointed out a direction, and gave a few instructions, which Caleb stored in his brain for the inevitability that everyone else in the group was not paying as close of attention as they ought. “Well, I wish you well, but I must be on my way. I’m normally not out on the road at this hour, but needs must.” They nodded, a deferential nicety that somehow managed to come off as genuine and continued on their way.

               Only a few more minutes down the road saw them to the Feed and Mead and its surly dwarven proprietor, Crute, who showed them to the large room above the tavern begrudgingly. It took only moments for most of the group, weary from their speedy travels, to bed down. Caleb, however, fed his silver string around the perimeter of the room carefully before settling. Gently, he pulled Frumpkin into his arms and whispered to the cat in Zemnian.

               “Wake me before dawn, alright? Or if anything comes for Mollymauk.” He glanced at the purple form, zonked out beside a lightly snoring Yasha, and then settled himself in beside Nott for as long of a rest as he was able to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story that Caleb tells Molly is a lightly adapted version of the Brothers Grimm tale "The Rose', the translation of which comes from here: https://www.pitt.edu/~dash/grimm203.html
> 
> Translations: Ja, er hat dass gemacht. :Yes, he did that.
> 
> Scheiße: Shit
> 
> Märchen : A Fairy Tale, essentially
> 
> Kinder: Children
> 
> Mutter/Mutti: Mother/Mom


	4. 4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dances performed at the festival are from my own mind but inspired by various cSandanavian folk dances. The songs from the festival:  
> 1\. https://kaunan.bandcamp.com/track/dansen-ungdom  
> 2\. https://kaunan.bandcamp.com/track/halteguten
> 
> Thanks to byzantiine https://archiveofourown.org/users/byzantiine/pseuds/byzantiine for the idea for Nott's threat  
> and to midnighter13 for betaing this chapter

4.

_Dansen ungdom medan ni förmår_

_innan enderunga år försvinna._

_Ja det går så lustigt, ja det går så lätt._

_Ack det går så lustigt, ack det går så lätt._

_Innan unga år försvinna._

_Dance youth while you are able to get away_

_before the end of the year._

_Yes, it's so fun, yes, it's easy._

_Oh, it's going to be so fun, oh it's easy._

_Before young years disappear._

_~Dansen Ungdom, Folk Song_

 

_“Autumn is the hardest season. The leaves are all falling, and they're falling like they're falling in love with the ground.”_

_~ Andrea Gibson_

 

Molly woke peaceably before dawn to Caleb’s gentle hand on his shoulder and heavily-accented whispering in his ear. It was the first good rest he’d had since being returned to life, and even the early hour couldn’t keep him from smiling, whereas normally he would much rather roll back over and forget the rest of the world until his stomach insisted he do otherwise. Worried eyes peered down at him as he finally blinked his own open.

“Good morning. Thanks again for this,” Molly said softly, sincerely, as he propped himself up on his elbows .

“Don’t thank me,” came Caleb’s automatic response, causing Molly to frown. The other man was always saying such things, he’d noticed, in addition to shying away from physical contact. Often, Caleb kept himself apart from the others, staying distant; perhaps less of an inability to socialize, but rather something else that Molly wasn’t ready to put a label on, although it was becoming clearer with time. Before he could say anything, Caleb continued. “We were successful then?” There was a certain degree of urgency to Caleb’s voice, an edge that he hadn’t quite managed to disguise through his obvious worry. It was endearing to see that, despite how aloof the man could be, Caleb had somehow come to care enough about Molly that the sentiment had wormed its way into his demeanor. If he hadn’t been so tired, Molly might have beamed at the progress. But a few yawns were worth avoiding any more encounters with malevolent Shades as far as Molly was concerned. As was waking to Caleb’s piercing eyes. It probably had something to do with the fact that they were the first thing he’d seen after waking to life that night, if Molly was being honest with himself, which he absolutely was. Why bother pretending, after all? He’d never held back before when he was attracted to someone, but even the thought of saying something to Caleb made Molly’s heart pound in a way he’d never known—or at least, in a way he couldn’t remember.

“Yes. No waking dreams, no Shades—at least, not from my end. Nothing on yours?”

Caleb merely shook his head side to side, his auburn locks shifting pleasingly. _God, I’m hopeless,_ Molly thought to himself. _Since when did I get to be as bad as Beau?_ But he simply couldn’t help it.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Molly expected that Caleb would have moved away, but he was still there, sitting back on his haunches, watching.

“Something wrong, darling?” The endearment fell from his lips without a thought like it always did, but this time, Molly really noticed it, noticed how he felt saying it. That he meant it in a different way than usual.

“Nein. I am going to read now,” Caleb replied a bit tersely, his mood suddenly altered.

Molly lay back down, turning onto his side. He had to put an arm beneath his head whenever he did so to accommodate his horns. As soon as he found himself a comfortable position, he closed one eye and surreptitiously watched Caleb through the other. Book in hand, head hung low, brow furrowed in contemplation, Caleb looked just as he did pretty much every day: dirty, tense, and serious. But there was also the spark in his eyes whenever he read something exciting, the earnestness in his features when he spoke of or to Nott, praising her various accomplishments or feats of thievery. There was the tenderness of his hands when he petted Frumpkin or woke Molly from sleep, and the determination he showed in accomplishing whichever task it was that they had set for the day. And the fetching way that the golden rays of sunlight caught his hair, turning it a striking copper, or how a clear, blue sky offset the crystalline of his eyes.

Molly rolled to his back with an exasperated huff, folding his arms behind his head. Honestly, it was getting ridiculous. _Apparently, all it takes to get to me is helping raise me from the dead. Moonweaver! If things keep going like they have been, I’m bound to fall in_ —

Molly’s eyes went wide.

Love.

That was new. Sure, he loved Yasha, and Beau (after a fashion), but that was platonic, sibling-like love. Before, there had certainly been attraction to others, flirting, the occasional dalliance, but romantic love was new. Romantic love had dropped out of the sky from nowhere—or rather, Molly supposed, walked right up to his grave and said hello. Either way, it hit him like a runaway cart. Or a lightning strike. Whichever was worse.

He snuck a glance out of the corner of his eye; Caleb was utterly engrossed in his spell books, none the wiser to Molly’s discerning stare. Nothing could be done about it of course; it was too new, and Caleb far too skittish. It was half a miracle he’d come with them at all and there was no possible way that Molly could say anything to him about his realization. The man was too apt to pull away, to put distance between them if he did. For all Caleb was ready to heap praises and concern on others, it was noticeably lacking regarding Caleb himself. But that was a concern for another time.

Yasha was the answer, of course. As soon as she was up, he would ask her to take a short walk with him, go pick flowers or something like that, and then, like they’d always done before, he’d talk and she’d listen and encourage and support and then maybe the fluttering in his stomach would settle and the racing of his heart would slow. Maybe.

Not long after, Yasha woke up as expected. She’d always been an early riser by comparison, and was all too happy to make it down to breakfast early at Molly’s request. Caleb paid them no heed, hardly even flinching as they moved quietly about the room before leaving. It seemed that Caleb had had the forethought to take down his silver alarm thread before he woke Molly, and they were able to leave with ease. The rest of the party snored quite heavily, and Caleb tuned them out.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. The Tavern below the Inn was dead save themselves and the surly proprietor, who shoved some plates of rudimentary fare before them with a morning grunt as greeting. While Yasha made no move to talk, she did give Molly more than one probing glance, less curious and more concerned. After the third time in a row, Molly gave in, offering her a pointed “after breakfast,” which seemed to satisfy her at least until they were done with their food. She followed him outside and leaned her head back, face to the sky as a very light mist fell around them.

The sky was a bright, blinding grey, the kind that usually gave Molly a headache. The kind that made it seem like a thin organza veil had been drawn across the sun and it was still going to burn your eyes out if you looked at it too long. Molly had always been particularly light-sensitive: a side effect, he assumed, of his dark vision. Squinting, he grinned and bore it, leading his preoccupied friend out into an open meadow beyond the edge of town. A few late-bloom flowers remained there, bright splotches of colour against a sea of gold and grey.

“You are very quiet today, Molly,” Yasha intoned lowly as she admired a bloom. Deftly, with careful, practiced hands, she plucked it without issue. She let one gentle finger pet at the dewy petals, not looking away from her prize. “Is everything alright?”

“Yasha?” Molly asked, tail swishing absently through the tall stalks of wheat, waiting to be sheaved and stooked at harvest. “Have you—do you know what love feels like?”

Brows drawing together delicately in confusion—quite the sight indeed on her massive form—Yasha looked up at him. “Well, I love you, Molly…”

“Yes, dear, I know that. And I love you, too. But I mean, do you know what it feels like to be _in_ love? Romantically?” He ran a hand through his untamed curls. They’d gotten long in the time since he’d last been with Yasha, before his second death. He was due for a cut. Avoiding her gaze only worked so long; before long, she placed a hand under his chin, lifting.

“Molly, you know more about social niceties than I do. That’s a simple fact of life. I think…I think that if what you’re trying to ask me is if you are in love, then all I have to offer is that I expect that you’re thinking about that person all the time and even the most stupid mistake they could make would bring a smile to your face in affection. I think, if it’s like that, then it’s probably love.”

It felt so good to be in her presence again, to hear affirmation in her words.

“I think I’m in love, Yasha,” Molly said as he made a gentle fist around a single stalk of wheat, repeatedly running his grip loosely up and over the soft grains. “I woke up this morning and I realized that I was in love. It was like…getting stabbed in the chest all over again.” He looked up in time to see the alarmed expression that graced her features and quickly backpedaled. “In a good way. In the _best_ possible way, Yash.” He smiled, wide and full, eyes twinkling. “I. Am. In. Love!” The laugh he let loose was carefree. Love was an emotion meant to be reveled in, to be shared, and even if he wasn’t going to share it with the object of his affection quite yet, he was going do so with his oldest, dearest friend in the meantime.

“That’s nice, Molly. I’m happy for you. Is it the wizard?” Her question was asked only the barest hint of actual curiosity, as though his answer was a foregone conclusion—which, of course, it was.

“Yes,” he answered with all earnestness. “Yes, it’s Caleb. I can’t tell him yet, though. He’s not ready to hear it, I don’t think. He’s got some…personal hang-ups, I think? Not about me, though, about himself I mean. So telling him right now is completely off the table. But I can tell you! And you’ll be mums-the-word about it, right?”

“Whatever you want, Molly.” Another flower was added to her growing bouquet.

“Well, for right now, I just want to be happy with you and pick some flowers for a while.” Yasha hummed contentedly and the two of them plucked flowers in the comfort of amicable silence until their arms were full.

“I think this is more than enough to put in my press book, Molly. What should we do with the rest?” Yash asked, gesturing a little with her armful.

“Well, I’d like to put some in my hair. And some in yours, if you like. Maybe the others will want some too. Probably Jester. Anything else we can give away.”

They headed back to the Inn, picking their way carefully along the path, watching for stone and other debris so as not to lose their precious load. When they entered the Feed and Mead again, a few more people were sitting down to breakfast, including Jester and Nott.

“Ohhh! They are sooo pretty!” Jester crooned as Molly dumped his bouquet on the table. Dahlias, Black-Eyed Susans, daisies and aster all intermingled where they fell. Yasha set hers down a bit more gently. Without hesitation, Jester began to pick through them, immediately placing one smaller yellow bloom behind Nott’s ear. “You look so lovely, Nott! Yellow is a really good colour for you. It complements your eyes, you know!”

Nott, Molly noticed, was looking at the flowers reverently. “I-I” she stammered. With a flourish, she produced her own small bouquet of multicoloured pansies and violets. “I picked these for you, Yasha, but I guess maybe you don’t need them since you have all these lovely flowers here.”

A softness lit in the large woman’s eyes as she bent down comically far to take the sorry bunch from Nott. “I love them, thank you. They are beautiful. Since they are different, I definitely need them. That was nice of you.”

“So you won’t kill me now?” the little Goblin girl squeaked. Yasha responded with a warm smile.

“No. Of course I won’t kill you. Why would you think that?”

Nott seemed surprised, mentally backtracking, much to everyone else’s amusement, as she tried to come up with a viable answer.

“Will you braid these into my hair, please, Yasha?” Molly held up a few smaller dahlias full with petals of the longer, thinner variety. There was a yellow one, one that was magenta with white frosted edges, and a deep midnight purple bloom, several shades darker than his plum-coloured locks.

When she was done, the yellow and purple where braided on over his left ear and the magenta and white over the right. He returned the favour for Yasha while Jester worked through Nott’s long dark green tangles, braiding it out long down her back, threading in more daisies as she went.

They switched while Molly was still working through the usual complexities of Yasha’s braids and soon all four were bedecked as was their wont. When Beau, Fjord and Caleb finally descended—the former two still rubbing sleep from their eyes, and Caleb book in hand—the remaining flowers had been reorganized on the table to leave room for others.

“Caleb!” Molly heard Nott call out as she ran over to them. “We have flowers! I’m going to put some in your hair for luck! It’s Goblin magic!” she hissed excitedly. Beholden, it seemed, to his small companion’s will, Caleb gave his acquiescence without grudge, sitting down at the end of the table so she could stand behind him to work a few periwinkle asters into his hair. Molly watched as Caleb picked one off the table, rolling the thin stem between his fingers and watching it carefully.

“In Zemni, you know, we believe that the aster has special powers, a magic of its own.”

“Oh good, that’ll help with the luck.” Nott redoubled her efforts, gathering more flowers to put into Caleb’s hair as a result.

“Beau, would you like a flower?” Yasha handed off a Black-Eyed Susan to Beau, who flushed darkly and stammered a nervous thank you. Beside them, Fjord batted Jester away halfheartedly before succumbing to his fate as she managed to crown him with three small daisies.

On the table there were several remaining flowers, including a light pink, almost white dahlia. Molly picked it up, hiding a private smile, and made his way through the bustling chaos to stand before Caleb. The other man blinked up at him, expression communicating for him what words would not: _the things I do for Nott._ Molly fought back a laugh and presented the dahlia with a flourish.

“For you, Mr. Caleb.”

“Oh, ah, um, danke, Molly. It is very lovely.”

“It matches your blush, darling.” Molly couldn’t stop himself, it just fell right from his head, out his mouth, and when Caleb did indeed blush prettily to match, Molly found that he couldn’t care less about his lack of filter if such was the response it garnered.

“There are still a lot left over. You guys picked _so_ many flowers! This is crazy!” Jester agonized overdramatically. “We can’t just leave them! What are we going to do with all these flowers?” she asked, her voice lowering two octaves on the last few words.

“Well, Molly and I thought we’d give them away to people on the street.” Yasha shrugged. “We can do whatever with them, I guess. I have already put a few in my book.” She patted her satchel. “Yours too, Nott,” she added. Nott beamed toothily up at her in return.

It warmed Molly’s heart to see it; he remembered how Caleb had talked of Nott, of how much he wished for her to be happy and accepted, and chanced a glance at the man. As Molly had hoped, Caleb too was smiling at the sight. He looked satisfied, content in a way that Molly only dreamed he could look someday in the future, potentially because of him. In his hands, Molly saw Caleb gently rubbing his dahlia’s petals absentmindedly. Lightly, Caleb cupped the blossom in his hand and brought it to his nose to smell it, only to gain a small wrinkle on his forehead as he pulled back, bewildered.

“As pretty as they are, dahlias have no scent,” Molly stated. Caleb looked up at him, a bit startled, apparently unaware that he was being watched. “They just look pretty.”

“That is surprising, ja.” Caleb examined the flower again. “I like it, thank you. I did not know the name of this one before. Dahlia.”

“Let’s go, let’s go you two, come _on_!” Jester was a whirl of colour as she blew past to grab them both by the collars, pulling. “Everyone else is already outside!” Together they were whisked out the door, a wide-eyed Caleb losing a few flowers along the way. They floated to the ground behind him like he was a tree with falling leaves.

Once outside, Molly and Caleb were treated to the sight of Fjord, arms cradling the leftover flowers, which had been unceremoniously dumped on him when Jester noticed that the other two hadn’t followed the rest of the group. He had an unimpressed look on his face; Molly tried to gauge just how seriously it was meant, but Fjord was hard to read, so he left off.

The half-orc didn’t make to return the pile, instead following the happily skipping Tiefling woman as she led their motley party down the road, a riot of colour and laughter in the burgeoning morning light. The sun was finally peeking between the grey clouds, giving some respite to Molly’s strained eyes. Puddles of last night’s rain sparkled in the weak rays. Curiously, Nott avoided them like the plague.

Though it was coming up on midmorning by that point, there were quite a few people milling about, adults and youth alike. Jester pranced about giving out flowers to any who happened to catch her eye (meaning everyone). Making people happy, though, was what Molly was all about. He took a few flowers off Fjord’s hands, bowing to the ladies and curtseying, as best he could sans skirt, to the gentlemen. After a lady Halfling gave him a particularly sultry look in response, he kissed her knuckles with a knavish flair. Behind the lady, Molly could see Caleb watching him with a curious look, so he raised his fine brows, flashing a smile and a wink as he pulled up and out of his kneel in front of the Halfling.

Caleb looked flustered and turned away rather abruptly to whisper something to Nott. Molly continued his little game with Jester until all the flowers were finally gone, much to Fjord’s relief. All the while, Molly kept giving the Zemnian wizard glances from his peripherals, but the other man was always careful to keep his back to Molly. No matter how much he flounced and flourished, Caleb always evaded him.

Eventually, someone (Fjord, the Ever Responsible) asked one of the many folks they met where they could resupply for their journey. Broad Barn, as it was called, rose up on the western edge of town and was, quite literally, a broad barn. When they entered, Molly took in the sight of well-organized goods and just knew that their group would somehow find a way of making complete chaos. Amused, but not desiring to partake in the mischief himself, Molly lingered behind, leaning up against a barren wall to watch on. Caleb spent all his money and then quietly, unobtrusively moved to the side, eyes tracking Nott as she snuck about. Curious to see what she might do, Molly joined Caleb in his pastime. Jester was saying some nonsense about pickles while Fjord and Beau were genuinely looking at various tools.

After catching Nott in the act—a small wooden top disappeared into the folds of her cloak, the old fellow manning the counter none the wiser—Molly sidled up alongside Caleb. “You look nice with flowers in your hair,” he said, not bothering to look at him as he did so, painfully missing Caleb’s expression. He could imagine it, though: a crease in the forehead, eyebrows drawn in, a curl at the corner of his mouth.

“You are also very nice-looking with the flowers like that. How do you call them in Common? In Zemnian they are _Georginen_ colloquially, but perhaps more regularly is _Dahlien._ I’ve never seen ones that look quite like this before, though.”

“Dahlias, darling. Not so different in Common then. There’s a lot of this variety down south, but I’ve never seen them growing naturally in the more northerly regions I’ve been to.”

“And you have been many places, then?” That time when Caleb asked a question, Molly did turn to look at him. The casual exchange felt unburdened in a way their talks hadn’t since before Molly had been returned to life, a reminder of when it was just the two of them on the road. For some reason, the thought created an ache in Molly’s heart. “Mollymauk?”Caleb prompted when Molly didn’t respond. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, jewels and chains jingling.

“Sorry, I got distracted. You were saying, darling?”

“You have been many places?”

Molly shrugged. “Sort of. Yasha and I used to be with a circus. The Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities. Being on the road with the crew and actually getting to explore the places we stopped are two different things. There’s a reason that circuses are always moving. Either people get bored of us, or we get run out of town.” Molly shrugged. “So I’ve been around but I never really got to know the places I was in.”

“Ah.” Caleb nodded. “Yes, this I understand.”

The silence that followed was surprisingly companionable. Jester finalized her transaction with a huff, though secreting a smile that only Caleb and Molly caught, while Fjord and Beau made a few quick purchases. Nott was waiting for them behind a shelf near the door, quivering with adrenaline from her five-finger discount purchases.

Yasha, who had remained outside during the whole ordeal, spoke almost immediately as they filed out the door.

“We need a cart and horses.” She jabbed a finger in Molly’s direction. “You’re not well enough yet for us to go any faster on foot and I don’t want you to tire. So we need a cart and horses.”

Molly’s brows lifted high in amusement. “I’m not arguing with you, dear,” he said. “But I’m not sure that—“

“Oh! Well! I think that, um, maybe, together we might have enough money for that sort of thing? I could maybe help out, like, um, a bit and then we could have a cart and horses and some clothes for the horses and—“ Jester’s rambling cut off abruptly as she noticed everyone’s eyes on her. “What? What did I say?”

It wasn’t too difficult to find someone willing to sell them a cart. The horses were another matter altogether, but Fjord’s way with words and charming smile saw them through. Some half an hour later, with one cart and a horse lovingly dubbed Loaf by an enthusiastic Nott, Nott and Jester were still discussing the finer points of equine clothing much to everyone else’s waning amusement. By that time it was roughly agreed to return to the Feed and Mead to satiate Beau’s growing “hanger” as Fjord put it.

Crute was still there, grumbling as he worked, the few other patrons in the place speaking at a moderate level amongst themselves. Just as the group settled back at the table they’d used the same morning, a guard came in, calling for the old dwarven proprietor.

“Eh, wot you want Reggie?” he asked, lumbering out from behind the bar.

“Well, Watchmaster Feelid sent me along, sir, asking if you’ll be able to assist with the food and drink for tonight’s festival, you see, that Caravan what came long the other night has been staying at the Candleglow and Thaddeus’ is a mite overwhelmed.” The guard, apparently Reggie, stammered. Molly took in the scene with mild amusement.

“Ruddy Halfling looking for me to pick up slack.” It was clear that Crute was all bluster, but Molly had to hand it to him, he made it look good. “Yeah, yeah, you kin tell yer Watchmaster that it’ll be taken care of.”

“Excellent.” Reggie nodded curtly and about-faced towards the door only to find Molly standing in his way.

“ ‘Scuse me, Reggie, was it? But I was wondering, is there some sort of to-do happening tonight?” he asked, turning up the charm and flashing his prettiest smile. “We’re new in town and your kind Watchmaster led us here, but they didn’t say anything about a festival. Care to enlighten?”

Reggie stammered over his words, blushing furiously, so Molly had little choice but to bat his lashes in return. “Oh, um, well, yeah there’s going to be an, um... early Harvest Fest, that’s right! Lots of food and drink. Fun and music. And dancing! Are…are you planning on attending?”

Molly’s smile turned devilish. Impossible daydreams of Caleb, still bedecked in flowers, dancing by moonlight ran through his head. “Oh, I am now. I certainly am now.” He sashayed back to the table, planting his hands firmly on its warm surface. Behind him, Reggie’s slack-jawed gaze lingered. “There’s a festival tonight and I want to go. Call it my ‘I’m Alive Again’ party or something.”

That was all it took for the table to descend into chaos once more, starting with Jester’s excitable rumbling of _“A Party!!!”_ It devolved from there. Nott talking over Jester about all the shinys and pretties and Beau shouting something about there probably being fights or matches while Fjord tried to get them all to quiet down by _also_ talking over them. Yasha looked undaunted, but Caleb sat ramrod-straight, eyes staring dead ahead into nothing, apparently trying very, very hard to not think or engage with everything happening around him.

Deciding that he’d incited enough pandemonium for one day, Molly held up his hands placatingly. “Alright, alright, let’s not get thrown out of town before we can have fun, shall we?” Mostly, he was met with good natured grumbles, though Nott whispered something vague in the direction of the door about replacing someone’s teeth under her breath. She didn’t say with what, or, for that matter, who the threat was intended for or why. Mildly concerned, but not overly so, Molly put it from his mind. If it became a problem later, they’d surely know about it. Having teeth replaced sounded like it would be a loud and messy affair, after all.

They left directly, much to Crute’s relief. Out on the street, people had already begun to congregate, many of them wearing the flowers that Molly and his companions had handed out earlier. It suddenly made a lot more sense as to why they hadn’t been met with more confusion. There were indeed feats of strength to be demonstrated, much to Beau, Yasha and Fjord’s delight, and definitely some pretties, though not perhaps as many or as shiny as Nott had hoped. Jester found her ounce of happiness in a street bakery that was selling candied breads and candied apples. And for Molly, it was the music. The was a three-person group out on the corner, a dwarf and human and a halfling, playing a lively tune. Molly fairly itched to pull Caleb out into the street, but reigned in his desire.

The clouds were finally gone, the sun warming them enough despite the cool breeze that it was easy to enjoy the day. Molly browsed through the stall of a woodcarver, occasionally catching sight of the others, including Jester, candied apple in hand and Fjord over her shoulder. Caleb and Nott were near each other, discussing something in soft voices with harried looks. Something was up, apparently, though what could have happened when, Molly didn’t know. He turned back to the table in front of him, thinking.

The small figurine that caught his eye was beautifully carved, with smooth edges and a gloss varnish. It was perfect. Frantically he patted down his pockets. “Sir,” he said, capturing the man’s attention. “I’d like to purchase this, but I’ve just got to fetch my money from my friend. Can you put it aside for me?” The man shrugged and plucked the small icon from its display, setting it down out of sight. “Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

He made his way to Yasha, sliding gracefully through and around people before he found her. One quick tap on the shoulder was all it took to catch her attention.

“Yes, Molly?” she asked, looking back only briefly at Fjord with his head stuck in a wooden tub full of water and… apples? Molly shook his head in disbelief and turned back to Yasha.

“I haven’t got any money.”

“Oh. Yes. I didn’t think about that. I’m sorry Molly.” From her belt she took a pouch and handed it off to him without a thought. “I kept yours separate. Just in case.” The sad look on her face was completely unacceptable, Molly decided, and he squeezed her arm reassuringly.

“Thank you for never giving up on me. You’re the best, Yash.” She beamed back at him, a rare sight that he tried to memorize before she turned away to guffaw at Fjord, who was coming up from the water spluttering, absolutely soaked and sans apple.

Molly picked through the purse for the right coinage as he returned, setting the requested coppers in the palm of the man’s hand as the little figurine was handed over simultaneously. Protectively, Molly curled his fingers tight around it, looking about for Caleb and Nott who had disappeared into the light crowd.

With the shorter days, it was already beginning to grow dark. The sunset bled orange and red over the roofs of buildings and tops of trees, giving the busy street a haunting aura. The air was also growing colder as the light waned, and Molly hung close to one of the newly-burning braziers while he looked around as his eyes adjusted to the low light.

“Psst.” He whirled, looking down, and saw Nott’s yellow eyes glowing from the shadows. He put his free hand delicately to his chest. “Yeah you, purple man.”

Molly bent his knees, bracing his hands on his thighs. “What do you want, Nott?”

“What are your intentions with my Boy?”

“You mean, Caleb?” Molly asked, amusement seeping into his tone. Nott scowled at him from under her hood.

“Yes.”

“Well, he’s done an awful lot for me and I like him quite a lot. Why’re you asking?”

“You were making eyes at that young upstart guard earlier.” She dragged out the phrase like it was something disgusting. “You’d better not be playing around.”

“I am so bewildered right now, you have no idea. What are you even talking about?”

“You know exactly what. I’m watching you, and don’t you forget it.” With that final word she disappeared back into the mist. Shortly thereafter, from the spot where Molly last saw her there was a _thunk_ and a soft _“oww”_. He chuckled, smirking, and turned back to the crowd.

There, in the soft glow of firelight across the way, was Caleb. He was with Beau, both with ales in hand, and a shivering Fjord tried to keep his own drink from sloshing. Yasha was there with them, blushing at something Beau said, and Jester was attempting to dry Fjord’s hair by running her hands through it. And there was Nott, slinking up towards them along the side of the building. It was a beautiful sight, to see people happy, people he knew well and people he didn’t. Life was good and he felt good and he wanted to live it and laugh and smile and love all of the time.

Overcome with a wave of emotion, Molly surged towards the group. He slung an arm around Beau, hugging her into his side. “I am having the time of my life, but it would be infinitely better if we took advantage of this music and had a little fun.” He swung forward, still hanging off of Beau, to look at Caleb. “Care to dance, Mr. Widogast?”

Caleb’s cheeks had already been quite pink from the alcohol when Molly rejoined them, but, if it was possible, he reddened even further. For a moment, Molly thought he would decline, but he pushed his tankard into Beau’s other hand. “I have not danced in many years, Mr. Mollymauk, but I am in a good mood tonight.” With that, he grabbed Molly by the arm and pulled him effortlessly away to the center of the cobbled streets where others had gathered when the music really kicked up.

Darkness had fallen almost completely, though the deep purple of twilight was offset by the warm light from wall sconces, braziers and torches that lined the streets. The song that was playing was meant for group dancing, and Caleb dragged Molly headlong into it. Much to his delight, he saw true happiness light up Caleb’s features as one of the musicians began to sing. He followed along with Caleb’s steps as best he could, the circle they were a part of fluctuating in and out fluidly, dancers weaving lines and stamping their feet and clapping in time to the beat.  Every time Caleb grasped his hand, his heart soared. Laughter and off-key harmony swelled in the background, the dance keeping a fast but even pace. They circled up, clasped hands, in and out, broke into lines, around and through and then it was spin and clasp hands and circle in and out and stomp, clap, clap, turn, clasp hands, circle up, in and out, again and again until Molly was dizzy with it, smiling blindingly and laughing, breathless. As the song ended, he fell into Caleb, arms hanging out him loosely, panting and happy, their hearts racing together and when he looked into Caleb’s eyes, crinkled at the edges from his carefree smile, Molly thought that maybe, just maybe, he saw his own feelings reflected there.

* * *

The second song set a driving rhythm, this time in a minor key; the dance was another that Caleb knew well. Mollymauk was warm and pliant against him, loose with mirth and exhilaration and maybe something else. Or maybe it was Caleb that was those things. His face felt numb and his stomach was the good kind of warm and his heart was…well, his heart was something. There were many somethings that Caleb didn’t quite feel steady enough to grapple with. For the time being, he pushed it away.

“This is a partner dance,” he said into Molly’s ear over the sound of the crowd. “Take my hand here, and put your other there and follow me.” Caleb took Molly’s hands, positioning them accordingly, one in his own, other on his shoulder, and then took his own position, his hand sliding to Molly’s waist.

For the quick pace of the tune, they whirled in far faster circles than any waltz required, and were pressed fairly close, so close that Caleb could feel the mist of Molly’s breath against the cool flesh of his cheek. While the folk dances they were performing in the moment weren’t the waltzes he’d learned at the academy, they still harkened him back to a time and place that was as much a part of him as his own skin. In the Blumenthaal of his childhood, he’d known every dance, participated in all of them, even the one that he was currently leading Mollymauk though. Many a harvest festival had come and gone through the whirling strains of a nyckelharpa or a lyre. Everything about the setting was familiar: the scents, the lighting, the crowd. Without a thought, Caleb could transpose a long bygone harvest night onto the present. It was a near thing for him to keep his head, the memories closing in on him of better, happier times, of times neatly labeled and categorized under the heading ‘Before’ and stuck away in a box in the back of his mind. But it wasn’t his mother and father across from him in the dance circle, or Eodwulf hooting at him from the sidelines between gulps of beer; instead it was Beau and Nott and the others. And Molly’s hand felt different in his than Astrid’s, his form composed of harder lines and sharper angles that fit to Caleb better than _hers_ ever had, no matter how hard they had tried. Molly, by comparison, was effortless. Caleb held to those truths and found that he could manage the memories better the more he did, and that, in holding Molly, spinning and swirling with him, hearing his sincerely joyful laugh, he could overwrite the other times. This dance was about Molly, not Astrid.

Caleb turned Molly out from him, arms reaching up, their fingertips touching to make a point, moving in a quick circle as they did. The steps were interspersed with punctuating claps, before they came back together again, spinning in tight circles. Once in a while, Molly looked down to better follow Caleb’s steps, but he was a quick learner and an agile dancer who kept up admirably.

When the lyrics to the lilting melody began, Caleb found the dialect was familiar to him, something similar to his more comfortable Zemnian, and he could make out, much to his embarrassment, the meaning of the words, which were far more intimate than that of the first song. Molly was none the wiser, but Caleb’s cheeks still burned.  They kept dancing, following the steps, making their way around the cobbled courtyard. Pressed so near, Caleb could feel the syncopated thrumming of Molly’s heart, felt his own seem to fall into synchronicity with his partner and with the music. The _something_ from before returned all the more intensely, and Caleb wasn’t quite sure if his shortness of breath was from the energetic dance, or due to the new, nameless, overwhelming sensation that pressed in the tight space between his lungs, nestled right by his heart.

The song ended with a general _whoop!_ from the crowd which dissolved into clapping. From the place where their companions leaned up against the wall there was raucous hooting and laughter. Molly, breathless, was bent in half, arms hanging down on either side of his head, before he straightened back up and flung them out beside him, ecstatic. “That was amazing, Caleb! You are a simply phenomenal dancer, darling.” Putting a hand to Caleb’s cheek, Molly drew him near and then—

Caleb blinked hard as Molly’s lips pressed against his cheek. It was over practically before it had begun, and Molly was already dragging him back to the group as a different song began. Caleb allowed himself to be led, still reeling. Too many thoughts—not all of them good—were sprinting through his mind in circles, on a repetitive loop, all of them leading back to the fact that Mollymauk had kissed him.

He missed nearly the entire conversation that ensued. Though he heard Molly speaking, Beau delivering a retort with a scathing tone, Jester saying something excitedly, Caleb comprehended precisely none of it. Still, he could feel the gentle kiss where it tingled on the skin of his cheek. Molly’s face swam in his vision and it was Astrid instead, Astrid’s petal-soft lips on his skin, lingering in the same spot. He was fourteen, all gangling limbs and strong arms, freckles dotted across his sun-warmed skin. Astrid’s brown eyes glinted brightly in the firelight, dark with promises unspoken, her fingers tightening around his bicep, his own gripping firmly at her waist, pulling her in close. She leaned in, her hot breath on his neck, nails biting the flesh of his upper arm.

“Caleb?”

Startled, Caleb jerked in Molly’s hold. It was Molly’s nails pressing there, not Astrid’s. No, not Astrid. Never again. It was Mollymauk. Glittering, ostentatious Mollymauk. Kind, alluring Mollymauk. _Alluring?_ Caleb shuddered a little, trying to clear his thoughts. The thing curled beside his heart thrummed with a life of its own.

“Ja, was? Eh, what did I miss, sorry?”

Molly’s elation was transformed into concern, so Caleb forced a smile. He could tell that the other man wasn’t convinced, but Molly seemed to let it slide anyways.

“I was just saying that I could stay here forever.”

It was only then that Caleb noticed that they were walking behind the others, heading towards a stall offering roasted meats, though he couldn’t recall ever ordering his feet to move. Molly’s words pulled Caleb from his fugue.

“Do you want to stay here, Mollymauk?” The question was blunt and it showed. Molly’s head ducked a little as he looked away from Caleb.

“I…” He trailed away and his hand lost a bit of its grip on Caleb’s arm. “It’s nice here. A little less…dreary than Trostenwald was. Everything and everyone is so full of life and beauty. Is it so bad to want to stay a while?”

Glancing ahead, Caleb could see that the others were preoccupied with the selection before them. This time it was Caleb who pulled Molly away, gently guiding him around a corner and into an unfamiliar tavern. One shadowed corner was empty of patrons, so Caleb made for the little bench situated there and indicated to Molly to sit.

“Caleb, really, the others are going to wonder where we’ve gone.”

Caleb knew an evasion when he heard it, primarily because he was the one who was usually doing the evading. He paid no mind to Molly’s concerns and looked at him pointedly. “You are avoiding dealing with what happened to you. Please believe me when I say that I understand this better than most. You are a joyful person, ja? You are a realist but you take your pleasure where you find it and see it fit not to dwell on terrible things. This I know about you. You were the single most well adjusted ghost I have ever had a conversation with…well, you are the only ghost who spoke back, but my point remains. We cannot stay here, Mollymauk. You cannot stay here.”

Molly’s back straightened. “Why ever not?” he asked, his expression hardening into something that Caleb had never seen on the Tiefling before. “It’s as nice a place as any. Nicer even. Someplace for me to get my bearings. I want to feel _whole_ again, Caleb.” Emotion seeped into the last confession, some of the immovability leeching away with the honesty of his words, and the desperate desire that hid behind them.

“You will not feel whole until you have closure.”

That, it appeared by the dangerous flash in his eyes, did not sit well with Molly. “The past is the past, Caleb. Why should it matter now? So what, I died. I’m here now.”

“You can desire that it not matter all you like, but it has informed a part of you. Perhaps this made sense when your memory was nothing but a blank, but that is not the case now. I speak from experience. Do not think that myself and others have not noticed your preoccupation with _that_.” Caleb pointed to Molly’s chest, at the exposed silvery knot of scar tissue marring the lavender skin there. “No matter how much you wish to put it aside, unless you face it, it will fester like a wound. A wound, I think, would be the easier to cure. Do not do further harm to yourself, Mollymauk. You do not deserve it.”

Somehow, Molly’s eyes managed to be soft and hard at the same time and Caleb found himself almost completely overpowered by the fervor he saw there. Almost.

“Don’t deserve?” Mollymauk reached forward, one slender hand landing on Caleb, who flinched, pulling his hand away just a millimeter in automatic response. The Tiefling shook his head in disbelief. “You know what Caleb? You’re a hypocrite. I’ve seen the way you act sometimes, pulling away from me, from the others. How you treat yourself so low. I’m not doing myself any favours, fine, I’ll admit that maybe you’re right. I’m hiding from what happened to me. My philosophy towards life isn’t working right now the way I’d like it to and that is hard to admit,” he laughed shakily at the admission. “But I’ll be okay. I will. I will.” Molly’s grip tightened on Caleb’s hand as his tone turned passionate, almost tender despite the accusatory nature of the words. “Take a piece of your own advice for once and treat yourself with kindness. Because you may not think you deserve it, but I believe you do, Caleb. I believe you do. You’re a good person. Whatever it is that’s made you feel the way I know you do, you don’t deserve to feel that way any more than I.”

Caleb let out a huffed breath, something between a laugh and a scoff, filled with all the self-depreciation Molly had just implied he had stored in droves. “Here is the difference between you and I. I know what your past is, why it has caused you to feel the way you do. But you do not know mine. I know that you are good, but you only wish for me to be, I think. I tell you, I am not. I am a garbage person, Mollymauk. Tonight even, while we were dancing, the sins of my past infiltrated my thoughts. I am as mired in it as you are mired in your desire not to be. My past is who I am, Mollymauk. I could no sooner treat myself with such kindness as you insinuate than take the dagger in my coat right now and stab you through the chest with it.” Perhaps his words were too harsh, because a pained look crossed Molly’s features, but they just kept coming. “You cannot compare apples with oranges. In order to be a hypocrite, we must be on equal standing, and we are not. I am not a good person, Mollymauk, and nothing can change that.”

There was a moment were Molly looked ready to say something, but he held himself back, pressing his lips together in a tight line, gazing hard at Caleb. It felt almost like Molly could see through him and it was difficult for him not to flinch again in response. He felt open and raw still from the memories that had threatened to overwhelm him earlier, and talking about it was like picking at a scab that never seemed to heal, or carving an identical cut over and over into an old scar. Finally, after what seemed like an age, Molly leveled his gaze and spoke in an even, controlled tone.

“Fine then. Let me be the judge of whether I’m right or wrong. Tell me, if you like, what it is that makes you such a garbage person. And if you don’t want to, which is perfectly fine, then I’ll continue to believe that you’re a good person, whether you like it or not. You see Caleb, it’s not your past that matters, it’s what you do about your present. And all you’ve ever done is help and care for me and others, even when you didn’t have to, when it might have been to your benefit to say to hell with us and move on. But you didn’t. You’re here, now, with me.  So I hope you can understand that, from my perspective at least, you’re just about one of the best people I’ve ever met. And I doubt that there’s anything you could bring yourself to do that would change my opinion of you.”

Jaw clenched shut, Caleb stood stiffly. As much as he wanted to speak, to say something, refute Mollymauk, prove him wrong, no words would form in his mouth and he simply, silently, walked away.

Outside, the celebration was still in full swing. Caleb veered towards a darkened alley between buildings, moving with single-minded purpose, and trying all the while not to think about anything that Mollymauk had said to him. Once he was safely ensconced in the shadows, he put his back up against the cold stone wall and slid to the ground. He hugged his knees to his chest and stared at the wall across from him. Eventually his eyes unfocused into a blurry glaze and the flickering shadows of firelight grew into formless waves against the shadow. Mindless, he followed their irregular paths across the stone.

Some time later, second maybe, or hours, Caleb felt Nott sit down beside him, huddling close into his side, a warm presence in the chill of night.

“We can go,” she said in a raspy whisper. “We can just leave. Nothing’s keeping us here, Caleb. You don’t have to stay. I’d go with you anywhere. You just… say the word. Or gesture, you know, if you don’t feel like talking. That’s okay too. I’m sorry that I wasn’t with you, Caleb. I should have been there with you and then none of this would have happened. I can… I can do something to him, if you like. Anything you like. I don’t think he meant to be mean though, but if you wanted me to, I would. I’d do anything for you Caleb. You know that right?”

There was a long silence. The lining of Caleb’s stomach felt like it was being eaten away.

“Nein.”

“Nein?! No?!” The distress in Nott’s voice was apparent, and Caleb didn’t want her to be distressed because of him, so he forced more words from his mouth.

“Nein, I do not want you to do anything to Mollymauk. I know that you would do many things for me, my friend. Just as I would do for you. But not this thing. He… he meant well. He did not know what he was saying.”

“So we can just grab our stuff and maybe take one of the horses or something  and we can be gone before anyone even realizes and—”

“I do not want to leave,” Caleb said suddenly, finding as he did that he truly meant it. “Tonight was… difficult for me. But I do not want to leave. I am not ready. Not yet.”

“Oh. Okay.” Another protracted silence. Finally, when it seemed that they would stay in that still, frozen moment forever, Nott placed a hand gently on Caleb’s chest over his heart and he curled over her small embrace, holding back tears.

“You are too good to me, Liebling.”

“No, I’m just right.”

Caleb woke in that spot the next morning, still curled over Nott who was clutching at him protectively. Between the rooftops, the pale gold of dawn was just barely breaking over an empty sky. Already, Caleb could smell the heady scent of vegetative decay, the spice of leaves crushed underfoot and the honey-sweet odor of autumnal flowers, mingling in the crispy air. The streets were quiet around them. He shifted, an itch in his brain signaling something that he’d forgotten. Something important.

Dawn.

Mollymauk.

The previous night’s events flooded back to him, but Caleb valiantly pushed them aside, lifting Nott as he quickly stood and began to walk at a brisk pace back to the Feed and Mead. She stirred in his arms, grumbling.

“W’a’s going on? Caleb?”

He didn’t respond. In moments he’d made it back inside the Inn and was taking the stairs two at a time before bursting through the door to the darkened room and striding directly up to Molly, completely ignoring the rest of the snoring, sleeping group, all of whom would undoubtedly be hungover in the morning (save Jester, who did not drink and as such was likely out on a sugar high). Molly lay unmoving, eyes open wide. Frantic, Caleb set Nott down and went to him immediately, placing his hands on either shoulder and giving a good shake, uncaring of the proximity or the contact.

“Mollymauk!” he hissed, voice definitely louder than the whisper he was aiming for. Nothing happened. Automatically, Caleb snapped his fingers, summoning Frumpkin, and blinked into his familiar’s form. The Shade wasn’t on top of him, like the last time, but it was nearby, lurking in the shadows and little more than a pair of glowing white eyes in the dark. He compelled Frumpkin to hiss and jump at the creature as he blinked back out of his awareness and turned his attention to the Tiefling prone on the floor. Again, he shook Molly. “Come out of this! Wenn du diesen Augenblick nicht aufweckst, werde ich dir nie vergeben!”

Beneath his hands, Molly surged to life, sitting up with a burst of energy waiting to be expelled as the petrification wore off and the fight-or-flight set in and sent him right into Caleb’s arms. Unthinking and without hesitation, Caleb returned the instinctual embrace as Molly clung to him with a desperation that only true terror could beget. Against him, Molly was shaking. With emotion or tears, Caleb didn’t know.

“You came. You came. Oh, gods, oh Moonweaver, oh Caleb, you came. You came.” Mollymauk was obviously sobbing, at that point, and Caleb felt the uncomfortable gnawing in his gut once more.

“Ja. I’m sorry, Molly. I’m here. I made a promise.”

Beside them, groggy with sleep and hungover, Nott rubbed her eyes with her fists, slowly coming to, but Caleb kept holding Molly gently anyways. Even when the memories broke free of his Mutti holding him the same way, rocking gently back and forth as he’d begun to do with Molly, even then, he didn’t let go. Instead he moved one hand to clasp at the back on Molly’s head, slowly stroking the soft mass of curls there and shushing him with soothing nonsense and muttered Zemnian until Molly stilled in his arms and then let go completely, pressing his face into the juncture between Caleb’s neck and shoulder. Even as dead weight, Molly couldn’t have weighed too much more than Caleb on a good day, all lean muscle and lithe form, but he was a solid weight pressing into Caleb’s chest, languid and boneless from emotional exhaustion.

Eventually, Molly lifted his head and took on his own weight, but he didn’t move out of Caleb’s embrace. From his peripherals, Caleb could tell that Nott had moved off into a corner, curled up on one of the blankets that had been provided to them, though she wasn’t sleeping; one large yellow eye was open, keeping a close watch on the proceedings, much like Frumpkin often did.

After a few more minutes, Molly sat back, Caleb’s loose embrace falling away without resistance. He wasn’t looking at Caleb, but rummaging around in his pockets. He pulled his fist out of one, fingers closed tightly around something, and grabbed one of Caleb’s hands with his free one, pulling it forward and onto his lap. Whatever it was that he’d been holding was then pressed into Caleb’s palm. Molly curled Caleb’s fingers over the item and then surrounded the ensuing fist with his hands, keeping Caleb’s hand in his lap.

“I meant to give this to you last night, but that obviously didn’t happen,” he said, voice rough, before letting go. Caleb pulled away immediately and noticed Molly’s shoulders slump. Looking down from Molly to his hand, Caleb uncurled his fist. There, resting in the palm of his hand, was a delicately carved wooden cat. The small figurine was varnished a pleasing golden brown, and there were even slight elements of fur detailing etched into the face, back and chest.

Caleb’s breath caught; the air was in his lungs but there was no way to let it out. He just stared at the carving dumbly until he felt like he was about to burst. Sucking in a much needed breath, Caleb finally turned it between his fingers reverently. The breath escaped from him gently a light stream of air pushed soundlessly between his lips.

“I’m sorry.”

As soon as the words left Molly’s mouth, Caleb replied, “Please, don’t be.” Molly only sighed. It was obvious he had more to say, but he didn’t push it, and Caleb was grateful. “Why did you buy this for me?” he asked softly, petting the smooth head of the wooden cat with one finger.

“I saw it and thought of you.” Molly shrugged. Caleb glanced up through his eyelashes at the movement. “I wanted you to have it. That’s all.”

It was Caleb’s turn to hold back on further questioning, sensing that, though there was more to it, Molly wasn’t up for explaining in any more detail. “Danke. You are very thoughtful, Molly.” He looked at the figurine one last time, rolling it between his fingers again before pocketing it. “I will treasure it always.”

Shakily, Molly managed to get his feet under him and stood, saying, “I’m going to get something to eat. If you want to join, you’re welcome to,” and made his way unsteadily towards the door. From the corner, Caleb watched Nott watching him and sighed, standing and making his way to follow Molly down the stairs.

Molly and Caleb said very little to each other throughout their paltry meal. It wasn’t quite an uncomfortable silence, but it also wasn’t the same as it had been in the past. Jester was down the stairs first, unfortunately, giving them both hard, probing glares.

“Where did you all get off to last night? I thought you and Molly left together, but then, when we got back, Molly was already asleep and you and Nott never came back.”

Caleb floundered for an explanation. “Ah, ja. I um—”

“Lost Frumpkin,” Molly broke in, picking up the shambles of Caleb’s lie. “We were too drunk to remember that he could just snap him back and went looking. Honestly I don’t remember much more after that.” He shrugged, his face a carefully-schooled blank, though Caleb could see the strain evident in the thin lines around his mouth.

“Hmmm,” Jester frowned, eyes narrowed, but that was the end of her questioning. It didn’t take too long for the others to join them, some giving the two curious looks, especially Yasha. But the hangovers kept them from badgering them with questions. As soon as breakfast came to a close, they packed their things and were off.

Beau, Jester and Fjord all sat up front in the new cart, while Molly, Yasha, Caleb and Nott took the back. The little Goblin immediately situated herself behind the lead by standing on a crate, her head stuck between Beau and Jester’s as she casually interjected herself into their sporadic conversation. This was primarily because Caleb was absorbed in his spellbook; the study of the arcane always managed to make him feel better and no one ever seemed to bother him during his studies. As much as he appeared focused though, Caleb had little success schooling his thoughts. They’d been through so much in such a short time and it was starting to pile up. He couldn’t unburden himself to Nott of the previous night’s events while everyone was in the cart anyways, so instead he just stayed silent, still utterly exhausted from sleeping in the alley the night before. Yasha had been looking out at the darkening horizon behind them almost since they left, and Molly was huddled in the corner, head nodding occasionally to the droll doldrums of rhythmic horse hooves and creaking wood wheels.

The Amber Road widened a bit on the way to Zedash, and the wind grew stronger as they went. Several hours later, Molly’s eyes flew open when a particularly strong gust caught the edges of his secondhand coat, allowing the cold air to get in. Caleb was keeping a watchful eye on him from the moment he’d noticed that Molly had nodded off, but it seemed that the Shades were only drawn to him in the time just before dawn. It was a time between, when neither the worlds of night or day were in control, when the veil was at its most fragile.

They ate lunch as they traveled, picking from their rations and hoarded treats and something Beauregard called “pocket bacon,” making very little conversation as they went. The darkening clouds only seemed to drag down the peppy morale of the night prior. Even the normally bubbly Jester was subdued. Only Yasha found peace in the roiling darkness that was creeping up steadily behind them as they made their way north. It was nearing evening and the wind was beginning to pick up more consistently when Yasha spoke for what may have been the first time all day.

“That storm is going to catch us soon. I don’t much mind, but I think you all might. We should probably find someplace to stop for the night, make a shelter.”

“Agreed. I’ve seen plenty of storms in my time, and whether by land or sea, they’re not fun to get caught in unprepared,” Fjord assented. He’d been at the reins since lunch, when Jester had been less interested in manning the horse and more so in her leftover candied bread. Decision made unanimous by a series of noncommittal grunts by the rest of the party, Yasha hopped out of the cart while Fjord slowed the horse to a pace that would allow her to walk more comfortably alongside as she checked various locations for their suitability.

It was nearly another thirty minutes later that they picked a spot, the ominous rumbles of thunder growing in the ever-decreasing distance. A hillock rose not far off the side of the road, out of which there protruded a small rocky shelf and a copse of sparse trees. They set up camp, finally sheltered a little from the whipping wind. Leaves were flying wildly through the air, occasionally hitting someone in the face. Caleb found his own mane of hair provided a similar problem. The ends stung when they caught him particularly harshly on the cheek, leaving bright red marks that faded quickly under the sunless sky. Before long the first drops landed haphazardly, one here and there at first before it devolved into a sudden, all-out shower, drenching the few who hadn’t made it to safety under the cart before it started. Yasha reveled in it, her head back, catching the brunt of it in the face, uncaring. Fjord was soaked, and Beau too, though she made for the shelter of the cart, and Jester huddled under a damp cloak as she scrambled to shelter with Molly. Nott, who was as dry as she could possibly get, watching with wary eyes as the world outside her sheltered space raged.

Brief, blunt, and to the point as always, one loud exclamation from Beau was all that could be heard over the racket.

“This fucking sucks!”

Caleb, too, was sopping wet. He made no move to join the other three beneath the cart. As it was, the damage was done and he saw no reason to add his own misery to their pile of things. Frumpkin peeked his pink nose out from below, but quickly dashed back under to curl up, safe and dry, in Molly’s lap.

Shivering, Caleb debated summoning a small tongue of magical fire to warm his hands, but that was as far as the thought made it. Instead, he sat resignedly beside Fjord who looked just as wretched despite—or perhaps as a result of—his professed familiarity with the present situation. Cold, shivering, and continuously drenched in the downpour, Caleb sat uncomplaining. It was paltry compared to what he deserved, after all.

Try though he had to forget that what he’d done could have resulted in an absolute tragedy _again_ , Caleb’s mind kept circling back to it. He’d promised and forgotten. Molly was relying on him to keep him safe, to keep away the Shades, and he’d failed. He’d gotten upset over a tiff and forgotten all about it until it was too late.

 _Failure._ _Du bist widerlich._ _Something terrible could have happened to Molly because of you. You are only fit to sit here in the rain miserably. You are not fit for the comfort of the fire. Widerlich, widerlich, widerlich-_

“H-hey C-ca-leb?” Fjord’s voice stuttered through his shivers. “C-c-can you ma-ake a f-f-f-ire please? S-s-somthin’ tha-at won’ ex-x-tin-guish?”

“Ah. Em.” _Fjord does not deserve this. You can help him. That much you can do. It isn’t enough to make up for your mistake, but this, this you can do._ “Ja.” He settled down quietly and formed a magical flame in his hands which he held out for Fjord. The half-orc put his hands out over the flame, rubbing them together a bit. Even in the torrential rain and the forceful gales, the magical fire did not go out.

Fjord, Yasha and Caleb each took watch that night. While the rain let up occasionally, it never ceased. That morning, it had culminated in an annoying drizzle. It was only thanks to his uncanny sense of time that Caleb could tell when dawn was about to arrive. Beneath the cart, Molly, Jester, Beau and Nott all lay fairly close to one another, sprawled in various states across one damp blanket which had absorbed the run off all night, far surpassing its capacity. Frumpkin was curled up in the crook of Molly’s arm, purring away, one eye cracked open as if he too were watching out for the Tiefling. Luckily, Molly was on the outside of the pile, likely on purpose, Caleb thought, and so he was easy to reach. With a soft press of his hand to Molly’s shoulder, Caleb silently brought the other man into wakefulness.

From beneath the cart in the semi-darkness, Molly’s eyes glowed red, reminding Caleb of the first time he’d seen him, the smoke-formed ghostly shape sitting against the tree. Alarmed, despite the fact that he knew perfectly well why, Caleb pressed more closely, feeling Molly’s steady breath against his forearm.

“Darling?” Molly asked ever so softly. “Caleb? Is something wrong?”

“Nein. No. It is nothing.”

“Is it dawn already?” Gingerly, avoiding as much mud and muck as possible, he made his way out from under the cart with Frumpkin held securely in one hand. The damp chill of the morning hit him and he shivered. Instinctually, Caleb went to make fire with his hands, but stopped, looking up at Molly.

“Would you like a fire, Mollymauk?” Caleb asked carefully. “You are cold.”

Molly gave him a look of disbelief. “I’m cold? Yeah. You’re cold too, I bet.” After a brief moment where Caleb held his breath waiting to see what Molly would say next, Molly’s expression relaxed. “I’d love to share a fire with you, Caleb.”

It was a diplomatic answer to be sure. After their debacle during the festival, Caleb was finding Molly more difficult to read. Not that he’d been exactly easy before, just that there had been certain aspects of his personality that Caleb had come to understand, physical elements that made themselves known when he expressed emotion that meant something. Now though, each time they spoke, it seemed like Molly was calculating his words, choosing based on Caleb’s reactions or mood. The realization put him on edge, and in response, he noticed that Molly softened his demeanor and posture; he began to move more gently, deliberately but not fast or harsh, like he was giving Caleb a buffer.

They stood together, close but not too close, sharing the fire, but only because Molly had insisted. Frumpkin climbed from Molly’s grasp up onto his shoulder, perching there comfortably. From his vantage he blinked at Caleb lazily, his fae nature made more obvious as he remained unbothered by the rain.

“I can poof him away if you like.” Caleb gestured to his cat.

Molly shook his head a little. “Nah, I like him. You’ve been very generous with him. Thank you.”

“I did not—”

“Don’t worry about it, Caleb,” Molly cut him off abruptly before falling silent. Somehow it felt to Caleb that Molly wasn’t just talking about Frumpkin. Instead, he had the sneaking suspicion that every word they had just exchanged was somehow, secretly about their disastrous discussion and its aftermath. It rankled his sensibilities utterly; Caleb felt unfairly absolved. It wasn’t as if he could atone for what had almost occurred. How could one fix a promise not kept? Once broken, how could anyone hope to have such complete trust again? Caleb desperately wanted to rail against the indirect forgiveness that he could see plainly on Molly’s face, but he did not. It was to his great relief that Molly did not outright say “I forgive you” altogether. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to handle it if he did.

Though the ease of companionable silence was lost between them, perhaps forever, there was a new tension that had grown up in its place, something unnamable to Caleb that had to do with the strange new pressure beside his heart, like what he had felt at the festival. Like what he felt as he looked on Molly’s face, illuminated only by the barest suggestion of dawn and a small, arcane flame. Chest tight, Caleb tried to look away, but was unable to. Refusing to name it, Caleb forced himself to meet the mysterious, red eyes and he knew that it was both the beginning of something, as well as the end.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower Language Used:  
> Black Eyed Suasan: Encouragement  
> Dahlia: When given as a gift, the dahlia flower expresses sentiments of dignity and elegance. It is also the symbol of a commitment and bond that lasts forever. The dahlia flower is still used today in gardens and flower arrangements to celebrate love and marriage.  
> Aster: The aster flower carries a variety of meanings, but in general, the flower mainly represents love, wisdom and faith. In Victorian culture, the aster represents daintiness, patience and charm.
> 
> German:  
> Du bist widerlich: You are disgusting


	5. 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Meridas https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridas/pseuds/Meridas for being an awesome beta! You're the best!
> 
> Chapter contains a non-violent description of Caleb's parents' death.
> 
> Edits made in the section with the Gentleman 9/29/18 because I don't know my own canon. Whoops.

5.

_“No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face."_

_~ John Donne, The Autumnal_

_“At no other time (than autumn) does the earth let itself be inhaled in one smell, the ripe earth; in a smell that is in no way inferior to the smell of the sea, bitter where it borders on taste, and more honeysweet where you feel it touching the first sounds. Containing depth within itself, darkness, something of the grave almost.”_

_~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters on Cézanne_

 

Zadash.

Never had the soft transition of the autumnal season felt more distinctly fabricated as within the great city’s walls. Though nowhere near as large as he had heard Rexxentrum was, Molly still found it impressive. At the very least, it would provide them with relative anonymity. It was always easy to disappear into a crowded place and that description fit Zadash to a tee. Their stopover, however, would be brief; Beau indicated that since Molly’s death she had fallen into the employ of a certain man who deigned only to be known as “The Gentleman”, and that she needed to confer with him on a job she’d only just completed before running into Molly in Trostenwald. The path into the city from the Amber Road took them directly from the rolling golden wheat fields and right to the Gentleman’s door. His base was a pub called the Evening Nip under which, according to Beau, he held dominion.

“You know, I don’t know, that sounds like, pretty kinda shady Beau,” Jester twisted at one of the pretty pink ribbons on her hand axe just as Fjord spoke up, similarly concerned.

“Are you sure about this guy?”

Beau gave them all a look that read approximately “what the hell?” and then shrugged with an exaggerated roll of her shoulders in tandem with her eyes. “Yeah, so he’s kind of shady, but it’s a way to make a living and he hasn’t asked me to do anything actually bad or whatever. Just because he’s a smuggler that doesn’t make him, I dunno, evil or anything.” For a moment, she looked to be considering something. “Look, before you go down there though, you should know that he’s probably going to take a sample of your blood as, like, insurance. So you can’t screw him over or anything.”

They looked to each other warily. Molly caught Caleb’s worried side glance at Nott and felt a surge of uncertainty in his gut. Ever since their confrontation in Alfield three days ago, his interactions with Caleb felt weighted in a way they never had before. Ease eluded Molly. The feeling in his chest – the uncomfortable one, not the light glow of love – persisted, only growing worse. Caleb had continued to wake him promptly in the few minutes before dawn, making the piercing blue of his eyes the first thing Molly saw each morning. That always sent a completely different pang to his heart.

While no one ever questioned why the ragged human was always offering to take last watch, it meant that Molly and Caleb were always alone together for at least an hour before any of the others would rouse. Normally the chance to share a private moment with Caleb would have overjoyed Molly, but it was overshadowed by so much else. During those times, it was especially difficult to put the hollow ache in his chest from his mind. Where before they had had little trouble making simple conversation, each word exchanged was like the trigger on a trap waiting to be sprung, that, once tripped, would start a chain reaction. The only problem was identifying what the outcome of that reaction would be.

Caleb was growing more difficult to read. It was a bit backwards from what Molly was used to handling. When he’d been in the circus, all he had to do was have a few minutes with a person (and maybe a few beforehand, scoping the mark) before he could fairly accurately project a satisfactory tarot reading. The easy answer was that Caleb was slowly but surely closing himself off from Molly. It hurt, considering the strange level of fond openness they’d shared before and with so little history, to realize that he was losing access to what had essentially been preferential treatment to all in their party save Nott.

The more Molly considered it, the more it hurt to face the fact that they’d only known each other for a scant two weeks and yet he’d already professed to have fallen in love with the man. After the realization first hit him, Molly had gone to Yasha again, half raving over it. She’d only smiled and patted his cheek gently, telling him that his heart had never lied before and not to start mistrusting it. Molly was inclined to agree, though that didn’t put him at any ease. Besides, when all one had was two years under their belt, one had to make up for lost time, or so he’d begun to rationalize it. Anything to save him from the possibility that Caleb would never come close to feeling the same way.

The only thing to do, he supposed, was soften his approach. He still managed to make physical contact at least once a day; either Caleb shaking him awake, or some other gentle, excusable instance for Molly to place a tender hand on the other man. When he did, Caleb only flinched a little. Not the terrified pull away of someone who was uncomfortable, but only the small jolts of surprise instead before Caleb would instinctually melt into it. Eventually, sooner rather than later, Caleb would pull away, leaving Molly to start from scratch.

When they’d passed a small, overgrown graveyard on their way to Zadash, and Molly had paused to explore it, he’d felt Caleb’s eyes on him, following his progress. Whatever was in his mind was unknowable; every time Molly turned to try and catch him at it, Caleb was eminently preoccupied with something else. The location gave him some hints – a graveyard was a morbid enough place to be considering someone so closely, but the circumstances of their meeting at least gave the situation context. Molly, on the other hand, was enthralled with the place. The markers were so worn that they were nigh on impossible to read and the foliage that grew over them so dense, even as they were drying up in the seasonal chill, that many headstones looked more like strangely shaped bushes than carven stone. The people who lay there had been remembered and forgotten time and again, the victims of some battle centuries past. Molly had two graves behind him, neither particularly permanent fixtures, both now empty. It was strange to consider that he’d been like the men and women planted below, nothing more than dust and memory, rotting in the ground. And yet, there he stood, contemplating them himself.

Eventually, they’d moved on, Zadash growing ever closer. The city was unlike anything Molly had ever seen. Witnessing Caleb in a large town was a very different experience as well. While Molly was inherently preoccupied by the grand vision of Zadash, he kept an eye on Caleb all the same. The Zemnian melted into the background with ease, often being outright dismissed as a homeless beggar. Caleb seemed to like it that way and it led Molly to remember what Caleb had told him in those first days about meeting Nott in prison. He didn’t question it though. It didn’t matter, whatever it was. If it ever came up, Molly would handle it. It was Caleb after all. What little history they had with each other at that point was already far too significant for him to consider anything else. Now though, as they all stood on the precipice between the world above and the domain of a shadowy smuggler king, it wasn’t the past they were worried about. No one but Beau seemed entirely sure of what the future held.

“Look, it’s up to you. You don’t have to come down with me, but, if you do, he might give us a job in the direction we’re headed that actually pays, and I think we could all stand to make some money right now.”

After a moment, Molly shrugged genially. “She’s got a point,” he said, making to follow her. The others, either not wishing to be left behind or lured by talk of monetary rewards, didn’t wait long. Together they made their way to the bar where Beau leaned up, nodding her head.

“So, yeah, we’ve got gifts to offer or whatever.”

The cantankerous old dwarf, half his beard hair burnt away to reveal a permanent grimace, rolled his eyes. “I already know ye, ya don’ haf ta say the phrase every time,” he complained as he led them to the back room, where a long and winding stair led to some manner of subterranean hall. The faintest strains of music were coming from within and Molly found himself insatiably curious. As they walked, the glow of torchlight began to illuminate the dank walls until they found themselves in a considerably nicer tavern than the one through which they had entered above.

Beau swaggered, overconfident, past a towering, gloomfaced ogre holding a giant maul. Outwardly, Molly put up his usual front, trying and mostly succeeding in matching Beau. Lately, he’d been having a more difficult time just _living_ the way he was used to. It was unbearable. Once, he’d feared relatively little—he’d had no reason to, he’d already died, what worse could there be? But then he’d died again and this time, coming back was a little more harrowing than anyone had anticipated. After everything he’d been through in the past weeks, life seemed all the more fragile. Molly hated the feeling. He just wanted to live, unharrowed and unconcerned. Too little too late, fear was added into his vision of the world. His two years of peace and a certain slant of innocence—relatively sheltered, he finally understood, by the safety of the circus—were over.

Yasha puffed herself up subconsciously as they passed, used to being the biggest thing in most rooms, while Caleb and Nott made themselves smaller, the former hunching into himself and Nott hiding in the folds of her friend’s coat. Jester showed little care, happy as ever and Molly was reminded a bit of his former self. Fjord looked cautious, though not overly concerned. He had an excellent poker face, Molly had concluded after a few days in his company, one that could be put to good use if Fjord was actually any good at poker. Unfortunately, Molly doubted that was the case.

Lost in his thoughts, Molly missed the discussion that brought them to the attention of the Gentleman and suddenly found himself standing before an extremely handsome man with sleek, dark hair. It lay loose and long down his back and shoulders over the maroon and black brocade coat he wore. His bluish features were angular: a thin nose, sharp cheekbones and delicately pointed ears, accented by a very fine goatee and mustache of the same dark colour as his hair. Most strangely, he appeared to be covered in small, glistening water droplets. Apparently unbothered by his damp state, the Gentleman smiled winsomely. It was a viper’s smile, but not lacking in charm. He screamed dangerous in a way that Molly found, quite frankly, extremely attractive.

“Ah! Beauregard! You’ve returned!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms out to the side in a welcoming gesture. As he appraised the rest of their little group, his brows twitched, arching jauntily. “And you’ve brought friends,” he half purred, gaze resting on each of them in turn, eventually returning to Beau. “Tell me, Beauregard, were you successful with the Baumbachs?”

“Yeah. I don’t like them very much, but yeah, I did the job.”

“Excellent. You’ll receive payment upon completion on their end. Now, do tell, who have you brought to me, and why?” He beckoned to a shadowy figure in the corner. A Tabaxi woman in forest green and maroon robes came forth, her fur dark as midnight. She was carrying a satchel, the flap for which she was already pushing aside. “You know that any newcomers must provide…a sample…”

“Now that sounds ominous in a decidedly unsexy way,” Molly muttered into Beau’s ear. She huffed a contained laugh, trying to keep from smirking.

“Yeah, I told them. They’re up for it. I used to run with this one here,” she slung her arm around Molly, who matched the Gentleman’s smile in sly provocation.

Just as the Gentleman was about to speak, there was a clattering crash as the Tabaxi dropped an empty vial on the ground in shock. She was staring openly at Molly. “Lucien?! Is it you? Is it really you? How did you come back?”

Molly fought hard to keep his grin from wavering. “I’m old hat at it now, darling,” he crooned. “But I think it’d be best if we kept from calling me Lucien. I’ve got other names these days, better ones. Less trouble if you get my drift.” _Moonweaver, if you love me, please, please don’t let this go badly!_

Though his gaze never left the Tabaxi, Molly kept checking his peripherals for a glimpse of the Gentleman, just in case. The Tabaxi stepped tentatively forward, putting out a hand towards Molly before drawing it away. There was a certain reverence in her motions that put him ill at ease and he could feel Beau tensing at his side.

“Of course. Whatever you say.” She looked like she wanted to add a name, a title and honorific, something, but she didn’t, leaving her sentence to dangle. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve found employ with the Gentleman.”

This time, Molly visibly glanced at the smuggler. He was being appraised more closely than before to be certain, but, thankfully, nothing suggested that the Gentleman was feeling threatened. “No trouble at all. Leading people…is a dangerous job, as I know you…know that I well know.” He stumbled over his words a bit. All his practice at bullshitting over the past couple years was not enough to keep him level as his worst nightmare (and that was saying something these days) came true. Instead of addressing the Tabaxi, Molly turned instead to the Gentleman. “I’ve been keeping a bit more to partnerships these days, than leadership. A mite less troublesome and for just as many rewards if you know where to look.” The pointed statement was meant to be an open palm, exposed soft underbelly gesture. Feeling like a cornered animal was on Molly list of ‘last things on earth I want to experience.’ Yet, like so many of the things that had ended up on that list, there he was.

A tense moment passed wherein Molly considered turning to Caleb and confessing his undying love, just so he could say he’d done it before he died (again), when the Gentleman, whose smile had faded at the unexpected interruption of business, let a wide, blinding grin slide back into place across his face. His eyes remained dangerously focused, but the laugh he let out sounded genuine. “Such a coincidence! Cree, you have a lovely former employer, and so gracious too.”

Molly would have been sweating bullets if it didn’t feel like he might inadvertently offend the Gentleman by doing so. “You’re too kind, really,” he managed.

“No, no, you are.” The Gentleman pushed back. Molly was really starting to feel uncomfortable, but it seemed that the game was at an end. The Gentleman waved Cree forward with her satchel. “You know what to do, my dear.”

She took a bit of blood from each of them, the process enhanced by some manner of arcane arts. Only when she came to Molly did she hesitate. As he pricked his own thumb with one of his sharp nail-like claws, she whispered a heartfelt plea to him in a tone only he could hear. “Nonagon. Lucien. Just say the word. All you have to do is say the word.” But he allowed her to take the blood anyways and didn’t respond.

As she backed away, gaze lingering a bit too long on Molly, the Gentleman raised his arms again in welcome. “Well, now that that’s taken care of, I think we can move on to business?” He invited them to sit, calling for drinks. “I’ve a contact in the North. She’s been having some…difficulties…with another family and it is getting in the way of our trade routes in and out of the Empire. She’s stationed in Shady Creek Run. You have roughly a two-week period to get there and take care of the problem however she sees fit. Is this amenable to you?”

The group hemmed and hawed a bit before Beau pulled Molly aside, leaning in close so she couldn’t be overheard. “Shady Creek Run. That’s where Keg said they were based, Molly. That’s Lorenzo.”

She pulled away, not waiting to hear his response, and looked around at the group with a pointed look. “This is the job we were looking for,” she stated firmly as if hoping they’d get the drift. “We’ll take it.”

Apparently skeptical, the Gentleman looked around at the various expressions gracing the faces of the party. “If you’re sure…”

“Yes. We’re sure.” Molly nodded in Beau’s direction, not feeling sure at all. He just wanted to get out. There were too many people watching him far too closely. Beau, the Gentleman, Cree in her corner, and Caleb. Always Caleb.

“Wonderful. Then it’s settled. I’ll let her know you’re coming then. Drinks on the house.” He stood, his bearing almost regal if it weren’t for the slippery way he moved, and gestured wide with his arms, his extravagant clothes on full display. “Please enjoy! I must attend to other business…elsewhere...” A sly smile and a dangerous glint were all he left them with before turning to go. A goliath woman followed him to a back room where she stopped and stood guard.

“Well. That was…” Nott’s high pitched rasp came from behind Caleb’s coat.

“Interesting.” Fjord finished the sentence for her, eyes locked on Mollymauk. “You lied." He pointed at Beau. "It's not a job. It's personal. And you," he turned to Molly. "You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” He pointed a finger at Molly, who was so far beyond done that he allowed a hard, cruel expression to cross his face.

“I don’t have to do anything, but I’m getting out of here right now. You can either come with me and ask questions like a civilized person, or stay here and drink and learn nothing at all.” He swept towards the hidden stair, Yasha following unquestioning in his wake. Caleb, too, followed with little hesitation, which meant that Nott was somewhere with him. That left only Beau, Fjord and Jester. It was the other Tiefling who followed next with a shrug and a bounce as she set off after them, while Fjord and Beau conversed in hushed but anxious tones, both looking tense.

Upon reaching the upper tavern, Molly sagged into the first chair he saw, decorum lost and façade fallen. All his effort was completely spent. Yasha came up in front of him and put one large hand on his cheek. “You don’t have to tell anything you don’t want to,” she said reassuringly.

“I know.”

And he did, but it was _hard_. Everything was hard lately. His heart ached with love, his soul shuddered in fear and the cavernous hole in his being throbbed painfully with emptiness. Suddenly, Molly was tired, just so, so tired and he let himself lean into Yasha’s comforting hand. She knelt, pulling him into her, letting his forehead press carefully against her chest, just above her heart to avoid his horns, and wrapped her arms around him tightly. Molly breathed her in, the crackling ozone of a coming storm and a soft spring breeze, warm and floral. She was tender contradiction and strong comfort and he relished her presence. “We’ll figure it out Molly, I promise. It will all be okay.”

“I hope so.” He was too tired to shudder, too tired to cry, too tired to do anything except lean there. “I hope so.”

Eventually, after the others rejoined them in the upper tavern, Molly stood. “I want a bath. You can do whatever it is you want, but I am going to go have myself a nice, long, warm, well-deserved soak. I haven’t had one since before I died last, so I think it’s about time. Who’s coming with?”

It turned out to be everyone. Fjord didn’t press Molly once as they headed to the Steaming Respite. For a generous gold piece, Molly procured the directions from a half elf woman as they exited the Evening Nip and started off at as brisk of a pace as he was currently able. They had been walking several minutes, and his chest was aching, but he pressed on anyways, only casually bringing a hand to the spot when he felt no one was looking. He breathed a sigh of relief when they reached their destination. Herbal and floral scents emanated from around the building. It grew humid as they entered, especially compared to the crisp touch of the autumn air outside.

With little ado, they all stripped down in a side room with cubbies for storing their items securely.  Molly shucked his shirt completely for the first time, exposing his intricately tattooed torso. It was Fjord who made it to the water first, sliding in like it was his second home, Yasha following with her greatsword clasped in hand. Molly and Jester followed.

The little blue Tiefling was snickering deviously. “Oh, Molly, this was a really good idea. I’m so glad that you like to get clean and that everyone is feeling very bad for you right now, because now we will all get to see each other naked!” she trilled gleefully in his direction, a pointy-toothed smile vibrant across her feature before she scurried ahead towards the water, hoping to catch a good glimpse, Molly imagined, of Fjord. As he watched Jester execute a perfect cannonball, Molly chose to ignore the bluntness of her words and simply enjoy the night if he was able. Beau trailed in after him, pausing for a moment when she caught sight of Yasha, majestic as she sat half in and out of the water, her hair floating on its surface, with one of her large hands grasping the grip of her sword.

Beau made a strangled sound and put a hand out for balance. It landed on Molly’s forearm and he chuckled at the comical scene she made.

“You’re absolutely useless, Beauregard,” he taunted.

“Yeah, well—well—fuck you!”

“Sure, whatever you say Beau.” He tried valiantly not to laugh out loud, before wondering why he should bother containing it and set it free. It felt good. Liberating. It felt like he needed it. Why not take what he needed?

Beau kept walking, almost slipping on the tiled floor as she attempted to strut towards the pool, but at the last minute her monk training kicked in and she save herself, but not her dignity. Yasha didn’t look fazed. Embarrassed as hell, Beau slunk her way into the water and sat glowering as Molly gracefully made his way to the pool, sinking into the water slowly, luxuriously.

It was pleasantly warm, not mild but not hot. Just the right temperature for all the physical aches and pains a traveler could incur. A tingling started in Molly’s toes, rising up his body incrementally as he descended into the water. When it reached the mottled silvery scar over his heart, he sank forward, swimming to the opposite side and found a ledge where he situated himself to best appreciate Caleb’s entrance.

Nott and Caleb entered together, but in vastly contrasting ways. While he appeared thin under his old clothes, in the nude, it was apparent that Caleb’s physique was deceptive. Wiry and almost blindingly pale except for the skin of his neck up and his hands, he moved unhurried to the water, much to Molly’s surprise. He’d anticipated prudishness, but Caleb showed none. After a moment’s adjustment, the wizard dunked himself below the rising steam and under into murk created by the myriad of oils and herbs and perfumes that filled the water, indulging fully.

In the doorway stood Nott, still fully dressed in the halfling girl disguise.

“Aren’t you going to come in?” Jester called.

“You’re with friends, it’s okay to get naked here,” Yasha gently reassured her.

“Ah, um, eh,” Nott shuffled back and forth. “Well getting naked’s not an issue. That’s a thing that’s already happened.”

Molly chuckled. Of course the illusion allowed her to remain as if clothed.

“But don’t you like the water?” Yasha asked. “It’s very nice.”

Jester began automatically to cajole the nervous Goblin girl into the water, but Molly was waiting for Caleb to resurface. When he finally came up for air, his pale skin was flushed a healthy pink and much of the muck and grime he’d accumulated for gods only know how long was washed away. His auburn hair was darkened considerably from the water; it was plastered flat back, leaving his forehead exposed. Freckles lightly dotted the expanse of his upper chest and shoulders. More were revealed across his cheeks and Molly felt the immediate urge to kiss each one, counting as he went.

His attention was pulled away by the sudden sound of Nott spluttering and shouting as she struggled in Fjord and Beau’s hold, thrashing like a wet cat to get out of the water. While Molly wasn’t even sure when she’d made it into the water, Caleb was already talking her down the moment she began. Once again, Molly was struck by their relationship. It was Nott who had come to him and told him off regarding any ‘funny business’ with Caleb before the dreaded conversation, and ever since that night she’d watched him like a hawk anytime he came anywhere near the human she’d dubbed “her boy.” All the while, Caleb treated her like a beloved little sister, doting whenever possible, watching over her and keeping her safe in a more physical sense than the way she did for him. While Caleb protected Nott from the world, Nott protected Caleb from people and Molly respected that.

For the rest of their soak, Molly mostly admired what little he could see of Caleb’s form, occasionally interjecting into the conversation with a comment or a laugh. It was the best he’d felt since dancing with Caleb at the festival, innocent and happy despite the intimacy of the close, warm press of their bodies. He was hard pressed to recall another instance of such effortless, infinite joy, and it would be forever marred by the harsh words they’d exchanged only minutes after. But all of Molly’s worries seemed to wash away with the water and the aches in his chest (both of them, despite their widely different origins) lessened, though they did not dissipate entirely. It was easier to forget about his troubles and just relax when there was nothing but lighthearted banter for a night, compounded by gentle teasing, easy laughter, and the bond of communal nudity.

Eventually, between occasionally warm ups, the water grew tepid and their skin wrinkled and they decided to call it a night. He watched fondly as Caleb exited the water, not caring if the other man felt the weight of his gaze, he was so far gone. Sweetly, Caleb helped Nott with her hair and Molly sank even further into the depths of love, to the point where he was ready to berate himself with the word ‘smitten.’ Molly, Jester and Fjord all exited without fanfare, but Beau and Yasha remained in the water, staring each other down in strange form of what Molly figured counted as a courtship ritual. Either way, neither was about to budge, Beau with a suggestive look on her face and Yasha remaining casually impassive as they bantered back and forth. It ended with Yasha admitting that she just wanted to be the one to see everyone else naked, but she gave up all the same and Beauregard watched with hungry eyes as Yasha exited the water.

As they dressed, clothes repaired, fresh and clean, Molly edged over to Beau. “Hey, you like what you saw earlier?” He waggled his eyebrows at her lewdly, nodding his head in Yasha’s direction and the monk punched him on the arm, sticking out her tongue.

“Careful, asshole. You think I didn’t catch you doing the vertical eye slide on formerly grimy wizard over there?” She pointed behind her with her thumb. “You’re about as subtle as Nott would be in an Elven children’s school yard.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Funny. Well, I still know something you don’t,” Molly taunted as he sat to pull on his boots.

“What?” It was amusing how quickly Beau changed from jokester to focused.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. I’m going to totally go tell Caleb that—“

“No!” It came out a little too loudly, and Molly winced. “No,” he repeated more softly. “Caleb doesn’t need to know yet. He’s not ready for that. You can’t. I don’t care so much about me, but I do care about him. Please don’t.”

“Alright, gods, I won’t.” Beau looked at him quizzically but left off. “I still want to know whatever it is you won’t tell me.”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that. My lips are sealed. Guess you’re going to have to ask Yasha,” he taunted in a sing-song tone.

“That is so not fair, Molly! You suck so hard—“

“You bet I do.” His smile gave new meaning to the word devilish.

Beau fake choked. “Aw, that’s fucking gross! Ew! What the fuck Molly!” She complained all the way out of the bath house and back into the now almost frigid night air. The others weren’t far ahead, waiting.

“I asked Miss Rima at the bath house where we might find lodging for the night. She suggested a place called the Leaky Tap,” Fjord filled them in as they caught up.

The walk didn’t take too long, but the darkened roads were not the friendliest to those unfamiliar with them and it took more than one wrong turn before they found their way to the right location. Inside the tavern, a rotund white scaled Dragonborn was tending bar to a fair number of patrons, considering the hour, and Molly decided that it wouldn’t be a bad night for a drink. He’d had nothing at the festival in Alfield and hadn’t had anything since they’d left Trostenwald. It was something else that he wanted. He’d had his bath, which was everything he’d hoped and more, and now he wanted a drink. The thing (or rather, person) he really wanted was off limits, but Molly’d be damned if he wasn’t going to enjoy himself thoroughly before he had to start thinking about Lorenzo again.

It was Nott who joined him. Caleb went immediately up to one of the three rooms they’d rented from the Dragonborn, whose name was Wessek the Trim, undoubtedly to read from his beloved books. Jester tried to drag Nott up with Beau and Yasha for a ‘girls night,’ but Nott was firm in her desire to stay put. Fjord said goodnight and disappeared above after only a single beer, leaving the two unlikely compatriots alone.

Quickly, Nott downed five successive shots of a murky brown liquor Wessek poured and then looked hard at Molly, who held in a breath, ready to be reamed out by the small mothering Goblin. She took a long breath in through her nose and let it back out after several agonizing seconds. “Mollymauk.”

“Nott.”

“I don’t know what happened between you and Caleb and you don’t have to tell me. Just be sure you fix it.”

It almost felt worse than if she’d have yelled at him. “I’m trying, Nott.”

“I know. You like him a lot, don’t you?”

“I—Yes. I do like Caleb a lot. I think, had we met under different circumstances, I’d still feel much the same. He’s…he’s wonderful.”

Nott took another shot and nodded firmly. “Yes. He is. You know, I asked him if he wanted to leave, that night.”

“I-I—“

“He told me he wanted to stay. That’s twice he’s decided to stay when we could have gone. Think on that, oh purple one,” she finished cryptically before sliding off the stool and hopping to the ground. Drunkenly she toddled away towards the stairs, leaving Molly to his beer and contemplation.

“Caleb wanted to stay,” he muttered into the mug before taking a swig. “Even if that means what I think it means, he’s still not—I can’t tell him. I can’t.”

“Something wrong, friend?” the burly barkeep asked, looking up at him from where he was wiping down a puddle of spilled mead, or what looked like spilled mead, at least.

“Ah, well, something wrong seems to be about the definition of my life lately.” He let out a sarcastic laugh. “But I’m too happy a person usually to be this maudlin for long.” Molly swilled the meagre contents left in his mug, watching the sloshing brown liquid as if it contained the answers to life itself. Or death. He needed answers to that too.

Wessek paused his work, frowning in contemplation. “So quit being maudlin and do something about it.”

“Don’t you ever just want to pause everything around you? Bask in a good moment before it’s gone?” he asked suddenly. “Life is so fleeting. I’ve always tried to enjoy each moment for what it was and not be sad when it was over, but then, everything in my life was interesting. Maybe not all sunshine and rainbows, sure, but either way it was interesting. Now, everything’s changed and it’s all darkness and uncertainty.  And quite honestly, I’m not just not coping well, I don’t think I’m coping at all.”

“I think the fact that you’re thinking about it is evidence enough that you’re coping, stranger. Everything changes. It’s got to. Wouldn’t you rather be a river than a pond? Ponds stagnate; rivers go places.”

“Of course I’d rather be the river. I’m _used_ to being the river. Nothing in my life was permanent. Everything was changing all the time. It’s old hat.”

“If everything was always changing, isn’t that just another sort of way for things to stay the same?”

Molly looked hard and long at Wessek before pushing away the mug of unfinished beer. “When the bartender starts talking in riddles, that’s my cue to go to sleep.” He flicked a silver in the Dragonborn’s direction and made his way upstairs, valiantly trying _not_ to think about just how deeply the barkeep’s words had struck him.

Molly found himself in the room that Fjord had taken. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes, listening to the Half-Orc snore rhythmically away. It wasn’t so bad though, to have the reminder of someone’s presence so nearby. Instead of thinking about everything that he only wanted to push away, Molly could concentrate on the even breathing of his roommate, count the seconds in between snores until he was gently lulled into the simultaneously blissful and terrible arms of sleep, unknowing of what the morning would bring.

* * *

Waking Molly without alerting the others was getting to be more difficult, especially since that night they weren’t all sleeping in the same space. Caleb crept as stealthily as possible into the room that the Tiefling was sharing with Fjord. The first vestiges of light were slanting through the windows, falling over Molly’s slumbering form. In the light, his lavender skin had a violet tinge to it and Caleb was treated once more to an unobstructed view of his bare back; apparently, before going to bed, he’d shucked off his loose shirt. Molly lay face first on the pillow, arms thrown out to either side of his head. The blanket was rucked up to just below his lower back leaving his extensive tattoos exposed in all their glory.

He was a vision to behold. The tattoos were intricately woven together, a sun and moon, a pyramid with an eye, vines with flowers and, of course, more of the spectacularly flamboyant peacock whose feathers wound their way up his neck and onto his cheek. For a moment, all Caleb did was lean up against the wall and attempt to catch his breath, stolen the moment his gaze landed upon Molly. Then, his eyes found it. There, amidst the tattoos and the multitude of spiderwebbing silver marks from his blades, was the long, jagged scar that Lorenzo left him with. The exit wound. It bisected the bottom portion of the pyramid and a few delicate vines.

Shaking himself from his stupor, Caleb padded into the room, stopping once or twice as the floorboards creaked and Fjord mumbled unintelligibly, rolling over. With shaking hands, Caleb reached out and placed the rough palm of his hand to the skin of Molly’s shoulder, petal-soft from the decadent bath the night before. He rubbed his calloused thumb there subconsciously and bent down to whisper words of waking in Molly’s ear.

His head moved before anything else, a slight enough shift to reveal one red eye as it cracked open. “ ‘s morning?”

“Ja, Mollymauk. It is morning.”

Caleb’s heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he feared it would wake Fjord. Dark, dark lashes swept Molly’s cheek as he blinked and it was such an exquisitely simple motion that Caleb felt the irrational desire to cry.

_Göttern, you are a mess! Ein Verrücker Vogel, bis bald. Completely crazy. He blinked and now you want to cry? Where is your head at, Caleb?_

“I always feel like I’m asking you if something’s wrong, dear,” Molly intoned in a low voice as he rolled onto his back. “So how about ‘is everything alright?’ instead?”

“Oh.” Caleb didn’t quite know what to say. _Everything is fine, you just look very lovely by the light of the dawn?_ “I am fine. Only still tired, I think,” he settled for, drawing away. He’d been hovering. Hovering!

“Ah, well, you can go back to sleep now that I’m up. I think I’ll get an early start, maybe do a bit of exploring so that when the others get up I know where we’re going.” He glanced from Caleb over to Fjord and back again. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He slept like the dead all night.”

“Mhmm.” Caleb hummed back, distracted completely by the soft smile that fit so perfectly on Molly’s face.

“Cay-leb?” A hand moving in front of his vision brought Caleb out of his thoughts one more. Molly was sitting up, waving his hand back and forth in front of Caleb’s face, so close that he could see that the claw-like nails that adorned each finger were actually a very dark grey and not in fact black. “Yoo-hoo. Anyone home in there? You must really be out of it. Go back to your room, get some more sleep, dear.”

“Don’t,” Caleb said, mouth moving more quickly than his brain.

“What?”

“Don’t worry about me, I mean. You get a little wrinkle between your eyebrows when you are worried.”

“Oh, Caleb.” Molly’s voice fairly caressed his name. “Oh, my dear. You’ve got one too, only I’m afraid that yours is permanent.” One hand reached tentatively towards Caleb, brushing a loose strand of auburn hair away from his eyes. “Let me do the worrying this time. You just get some rest.”

Caleb wanted desperately to respond but his tongue was heavy with the words, dark, unhappy words that would spoil the moment the way they had the last time, and he swallowed them down where they sat uncomfortably in his gut.

Instead, all he said was, “okay.” _You should leave now_ , he thought to himself, but his feet didn’t move, and his arms hung to his sides and he stayed precisely where he was, gaze locked with Molly’s. He was held in place as if hypnotized, and whatever it was, that nameless compulsion to remain near to Molly at all times, he hated and loved it at turns.

“Okay.” Molly repeated, sounding similarly breathless and for a split second, before the dark, angry thoughts of _unworthy_ and _disgusting_ and _evil_ consumed it, one bright spark lit in Caleb’s mind that possibly, Molly might be feeling the same warm, nameless pressure by his heart too.

Abruptly, Caleb pulled back and retreated swiftly from the room without another thought. When he turned the corner back to his own, shutting the door behind him, he came face to face with a very curious, stern-looking Nott. She was sat up in the bed they’d shared, holding Frumpkin in her arms, stroking him very precisely as she glared at him, one dark brow lifted in judgement. It had been a long time since Caleb had felt the weight of this particular stare and the sort of person it was usually associated with, the mingled weight of another’s care and concern with skepticism and disappointment. Sharply, a pang went through his heart as he was reminded of his mother.

“And just where have you been?” she asked him, not missing a beat as she petted his familiar.

“I—”

“Was with Mollymauk?” she pried. “I knew it!” she cried out. “Do you…” Suddenly, her voice was much softer, less harsh. “Do you like him? Like, like like him?”

The mothering sensibility was lost and once more she was the little sister he’d never had. “I, ah, feel a certain responsibility to Mollymauk, but I did not say that it was he I was with this morning. You have made that assumption, liebling.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I? You’ve got that dazed look like you’ve just been staring into the sun and he is a rather shiny person.”

“I wake him in the mornings,” Caleb finally confessed. “He has bad dreams and doesn’t want the others to know.” It was a partial truth, but enough of one to convince his little friend.

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you, Caleb.” She beamed up at him. “You’re a good boy. I won’t say anything to anyone, I promise. Not Mollymauk either.”

“You are good to me, Nott. Too good.”  Her smile fell a bit as he said it, and he immediately felt guilty. “I’m actually back here now to get some more sleep, if you would like?” The offer perked her up, though, for a moment he thought she would decline.

“Yes, Caleb, that sounds nice. I’d like to curl up for a bit yet. Get my beauty rest, you know.”

“Ja, sounds good.”

He made himself comfortable on the bed with Nott in her usual place, curled into his chest with Frumpkin between them. As Caleb closed his eyes, the memory of Molly, blinking softly and splayed on the bed before him, flashed against the black and he breathed in sharply. No matter where he went or what he did, it seemed he would be accosted by such visions and imaginings. There was little respite. He knew, of all things, that he deserved it. Deserved to drown under the onslaught while fantasizing about the one thing that he could not have.

He would not, Caleb vowed, ruin Mollymauk with his darkness.

Two hours later, Caleb caught a shifting foot in the stomach, punching the air brutally from his lungs and he shot into wakefulness, startling Frumpkin who in turn startled Nott. She was on her feet, brandishing a small dagger in moments.

“Wh’re’s ‘e at? I’ll kill ‘em! I’m gonna kill—Wha? Oh.” She trailed off as she looked around, realizing what had happened. Caleb was double over, clutching his arms around his torso. Across the room, Frumpkin’s fur stood on edge and Nott was at the center of it all.

Huffing for breath, Caleb managed, “Y-ou kicked…me…in…yo-ur dreams, mein schatz.”

“Oh, oh Caleb, I’m sorry!”

“No hard feelings,” he said, slowly uncurling from around himself. “It is about time for breakfast anyways.”

The tavern below was bustling with life. Molly was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, leaning across a table he’d commandeered to talk animatedly with Jester, whose enthusiasm was the only one on a level with his. The others all looked like they would still much rather be asleep. Fjord, despite apparently sleeping like a rock, looked drained and Beau…well Beau gave new meaning to the phrase ‘resting bitch face.’ Yasha, as always, was simply a stoic presence at Molly’s side, content to listen and watch as others interacted.

“Guten Morgen,” he greeted those assembled. Nott, with her hood pulled up, was already devouring the remains of Fjord’s bacon.

A chorus of “Good morning, Caleb”s sounded off to varying degrees of gusto. Caleb commandeered his own platter of food and sat down in the empty spot beside Beau, trying to pick up the threads of the two Tieflings’ animated conversation.

“—can go to the Pentamarket?”

“Oh definitely! There’s the place that looks like it might be neat to check out, but I’m not sure we’ll even be able to afford anything in it. But honestly, when has that stopped anyone, right? There’s also this really nice area of town-“

“Is it like, super-duper fancy pants, Molly?”

The lavender Tiefling had an easy nature. It was clear that Jester and Molly had become fast friends, similar of nature, each as likely as the other to indulge in mischievous antics, both thoroughly delighted by life. It was refreshing and depressing at the same time, but Caleb was happy for them, happy that, despite Molly’s circumstances, he could still find joy in the mundane.

“It is! They wouldn’t let me in and I don’t think it’s just because it was so early. But anyways, I can definitely find a new deck of cards here and then we can have some real fun.”

Jester looked positively elated at the thought, grinning gleefully from ear to pointed ear. Caleb wondered about all of them, these four that Molly had brought into his life. Yasha he understood a little bit. She was like him, quiet, seeking a retreat from society, uncomfortable in crowds and with social niceties, yet drawn to Molly all the same. Beau was easy – the dissatisfied imperial citizen, and rebellious daughter, who, despite how she seemed to rail against her calling as a monk, was perfect for it. Fjord was the true mystery; Jester knew him the best, and even she knew very little. What difference did a few days make in the scheme of things? But he was proper in that way that people would expect Caleb and Beau to be. Proper, social, gentlemanly. And mysterious. That, Caleb imagined, was half of why Jester liked him so much. Jester was curious too. Innocent in some ways and far from it in others—last night, before he had entered the bathing room, Caleb overheard her proudly exclaim that though she’d seen a lot of dicks at her mom’s work, Molly’s was probably the best of them all. She had little to no social grace, but all the geniality of an excitable puppy. She wasn’t as young as she acted, but it was hard to tell sometimes and Caleb felt the urge to protect her, to draw her under his wing in much the same way he had done for Nott, though that had been an entirely different situation. Whatever he knew or didn’t know, they were all better people than he, so far reliable and trustworthy and all had been kind to Nott, which was generally the ultimate test of a person’s nature. That was more than enough to endear them all to him at least a little.

As breakfast came to an end, Jester bouncing with energy, they all made for the doors. Molly walked backwards as he led them out, narrating the places he’d discovered and the locations he would show them as they prepared for their journey northwards. It was nice to see him in such a mood; the night before at the bath house had truly been a respite from the emotional turmoil they’d both undergone since the disastrous aftermath of the festival. Though Molly still seemed calculated in his words with Caleb every so often, the relaxing soak had eased both their hearts and minds enough that he was letting his guard down a little.

The Pentamarket was a certified hit. There were plenty of grumpy people for Nott to nick shineys from, and a little pastry shop and Molly knew of someplace to get his cards. Neither Beau nor Fjord seemed all that thrilled by the outing. In fact, Beau skived off, claiming she had another contact in the city that she had to meet. Yasha, as always, appeared mostly indifferent. All Caleb was concerned about was ink and paper. He needed it, badly. He’d gone far too long without the materials he needed to transcribe his spells and his fingers itched to get to work.

It wasn’t until much later in the day – Beau showed up shortly after they’d lunched on a few apples, citing an end to her business – that they made it to the shop Molly had called “The Invulnerable Vagrant.” When they entered, the proprietor’s back was to them, but he turned at the ring of the entryway bell, revealing an extremely large Firbolg. And then, the other shopkeep turned and _it was the same exact Firbolg as before_. Fascinated, Caleb stepped forward while the others remained back, gawking in awe.

“Hello, I am, um, looking for quite a lot of very fine paper and ink. About a hundred gold pieces worth of these items. Are you able to supply this?” he asked very politely and formally, the way he reserved for all social interactions involving money and was rewarded when the genial, slow talking Firbolgs were able to satisfy his request without difficulty. It turned out that each of them was a simulacrum of the original Enchanter Pumat Sol and Caleb’s fascination only increased exponentially as they spoke, back and forth, occasionally finishing the other’s sentences.

A few purchases later, exhausting much of the gold they had between them (which wasn’t a lot to begin with), the party left the Invulnerable Vagrant, determined to return another day when their pockets were lined and full to the brim.

Molly’s cards came last. It was going on late afternoon by the time they managed to round up everything else that they wanted. As they headed back the way they came, they passed by a teashop that Caleb hadn’t noticed earlier. From within the smell of herbs and the pleasant sounds of light humming and a whistling tea kettle could be heard. Only Caleb saw Molly slip inside; the others were too busy dilly-dallying, joking and laughing, doing idiotic things with their new purchases to notice much of anything besides themselves. When Molly came back out not but a few minutes later, the rest of the group still none the wiser, he caught Caleb watching him and winked, patting a pocket of his coat.

“Shall we get going back to the tavern then?” Molly asked the group as he shouldered in from behind, throwing a casual arm over Beau’s shoulders. “Or are you lot going to stand around like a bunch of assholes all day long? I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“A surprise!” Jester’s voice ratcheted up at least two octaves, and Caleb knew that keeping the part in any semblance of order thereafter was a lost cause. It didn’t take long after that to corral the rambunctious few towards their destination.

Jester was all over Molly, who, despite a twinkle in his eye, remained completely composed. “Take a seat, my friend, and I’ll make good on my promise to you.” With a flourish, the cards appeared in his hand.

“Now, hold a question in your mind, alright?”

“Oh, okay!” Jester sat on her hands, bursting with excitement. “Oh, alright, alright I’ve got it, yeah I’ve got it. Now tell me my fortune please, oh my gosh!”

Molly pulled a card. “The Silver Dragon. Purity and virtue.”

“Oh, yeah that’s _totally_ me.” Everyone rolled their eyes in response.

“The Anvil.” Another card found its home on the table with a satisfying slap. “A destiny forged.”

A chorus of “ohhs” came reverently from the peanut gallery. Caleb held back a smirk.

“The Serpent.”

“Oh cool! We never told you guys that Beau and Fjord and I killed a really big snake back in Trostenwald before you showed up, did we?”

“No, no you didn’t.” Whatever it was that Molly had originally intended to accompany the card went unsaid as he pulled the last one. “Now, you’ve got that question held tight in your mind, right?”

“Yes.”

“The Eye. Whatever it is you’re looking for, you’ve already found the first clue, or possibly even whatever it is, you just didn’t know it when it happened.”

“Ohh…that’s going to take a lot of thinking. I’m looking for my Dad, you know.”

The reading was obviously a sham, but Caleb understood it well for what it was. Unlike his and Nott’s money-pot, which they used as necessary from time to time, Molly’s only goal was to make whomever it was either feel better about themselves or think more deeply at the situation they were in. It was so like him to take something used by the majority as a conventional con and turn it into something good-natured.

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but now that I’m set again, I’m going to busk for a bit, make some cash before our travels, just in case.”

“I will go look for a place that sells books. I did not want to assume that you all would like to join, which is why I did not say anything earlier.” Caleb adjusted his coat. “Though any who would wish to join may come with.”

“Well, obviously I’m going with you,” Nott waggled her fingers at him like she was doing some manner of strange spell. “You’d get into trouble without me.”

Caleb doubted that very much, but said nothing, indulging her as usual.

“Oh, I will go with you! I was asking a bit about that nicer part of town that Molly was talking about, you know, the Tri-Spire, and apparently there’s a bookstore there.” Jester waggled her eyebrows wildly with a suggestive grin, leaving Caleb confused. “It’s called Chastity’s Nook!”

“Have fun, darling,” Molly said as Jester dragged Caleb off, Nott trailing behind.

Nott, even in her disguise as a little halfling girl again, kept mostly to the shadows, eyes watching sharply for prime targets of her sticky fingers. Jester skipped along beside Caleb’s long stride, pulling ahead of him and turning around backwards to watch him as he walked. “Hey Cay-leb?”

“Yes, Jester?”

“What’s the deal with you and Molly?”

“Bitte? What?”

“You know what I mean.” She waggled her eyebrows again.

“No, I am afraid I don’t. We are friends of circumstance. I have known him only as long as you have known Fjord.”

With a pop, Jester pulled the hard candy from her mouth, twirling the stick between her fingers. “Yeah but you smile at him. You only smile at Nott otherwise and you and Nott are like family, right?”

Family. The word was worse than a dagger in his side. He said nothing in response, instead turning his attention to the town, leaving Jester unsatisfied. To her credit, she let it go, sensing that it was a touchy subject. Perhaps she was more worldly than he’d first thought. Trees were dotted here and there in the streets, but they felt artificial compared to the majesty of their recent surroundings. The colour was still spectacular, bright oranges and yellows dotted up against the pale blue sky. The scent of vanilla and cloves mingled with other street odors, wafting down from a variety of little shops and cafes as they neared the nicer part of town. Vendors had harvest displays set up to dress their windows, tastefully arranged flowers and squashes. He remembered the autumns of his childhood, making wreaths of wheat sheaves and mums, newly fallen leaves and dried summer lavender to hang in their house, and forced himself to look at all the familiar trappings of the time he used to love. To think of the cornstalks his father would set up each year that arched over the entry to their home in honour of Pelor, the Dawnfather, in request of a blessing for good harvest. Forced himself to remember how the stalks charred and blackened as the tongues of flame, vibrant as the leaves of a turning maple, licked their way up the door.

But Caleb, as always, was weak, and looked away. Frumpkin curled his way across Caleb’s shoulders, draping himself there like a sentient scarf, nuzzling under his master’s chin as if recognizing his distress. The unconditional comfort that Frumpkin brought soothed Caleb out of panicking as they continued to walk down the street in broad daylight as if there was not a care in the world to be had. If Jester noticed anything, she didn’t mention it, but Caleb could feel her eyes and Nott’s as well resting heavily on him with concern. Eventually, the mood passed as he focused on walking, listening to the regular pound of his own footfalls across the dusty cobblestones.

Before long, Jester, Nott and Caleb stood before the entryway to the Tri-Spire. Caleb ducked a corner and made himself look more presentable as they watched only the fanciest of folk go in and out.

“Yeah, it’s, like, a really good thing you can do that spell, because wow, they’re really snooty and might not let you in otherwise, even though you’re all clean, you know, because your clothes aren’t, and they’re pretty ragged too. We should get you a new coat before winter,” Jester rambled as she straightened herself and Nott out while Caleb perfected his illusion. Though he ultimately disagreed about the coat, it was concerningly sweet that Jester was so preoccupied with his wellbeing.

As they walked towards the entry way, finally looking respectable, a wash of arcane energy rippled over them, leaving Nott and Caleb very firmly exposed for their true nature. Jester grimaced as the guards stopped them in their tracks.

“Don’t you know there’s no enchantments past this point? Now, you two, get lost.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes, and he was already preparing to try something else when Jester started talking. “Oh, but you see they’re with me, and I need to get to the Pillow Trove because that is where I am staying tonight!” She batted her lashes prettily but with no success.

“You can come in, Miss,” One of the guards said after a moment’s deliberation. “But these two’ve got to stay behind.”

Jester turned to Caleb, downcast. “I’m so sorry, Caleb. If you tell me what sort of thing you are looking for, I can check the bookstore for you.”

He gave her a tight smile. “That’s nice, Jester. Just history things, thank you. Perhaps you can take Frumpkin and then I will feel as though I am there.”

“Ohhh, right. Yeah, I can do that.” She winked at him with the eye not visible to the guards and took Frumpkin from him. “Fine. Caleb, I will see you and Nott again later, okay?”

“Yes, good.”

“Bye!” Nott croaked, waving. The guards looked at her quizzically, one doing a double take and Caleb decided it was time to go as Jester disappeared beyond the gate. Hurriedly, the pair turned down the corner of an alleyway. Again, Nott threw up her disguise and Caleb descended into Frumpkin’s vision. He felt Nott take his hand and begin to lead him away somewhere. He could do that with no one else, feel comfortable enough to allow them to lead him blind and deaf through the streets while he took advantage of his special bond with his fae cat. Only Nott. He squeezed her hand tightly and she squeezed back.

Jester held Frumpkin very, very securely in her arms, talking to him endlessly, though Caleb wasn’t sure if she was meaning it for Frumpkin or for himself to hear. Eventually they grew too far apart and he lost the connection, but all that he saw for as long as he was able was about par for the course. Decadent, clean and auspicious, the Tri-Spire district was likely where all the sort of material he was interested in would be contained. And it seemed impossible that he’d be able to find a way in before they left for northerly roads in the morning.

Resignedly, Caleb put his disappointment from his mind. Despite being able to see and hear again, he kept his hand in Nott’s, allowing the small comfort. They were rounding a corner near the Leaky Tap when the familiar fragrance of spiced cider overwhelmed the street.

“Oh, Caleb, what’s that?” Nott asked, sighing happily.

“Spiced cider. From pressed apples. It’s a seasonal drink. You have it warm,” he recited, but something else caught his eye. Molly, sans his replacement coat, which served as his blanket, was seated on the ground just to the side of a flower cart, his hair once more full of blossoms, cards spread before him, calling out in his clear, lilting tone.

“Fancy to know your fortune? Tarot readings for any and all! Come find what the future holds!” Yasha was nearby, his ever-faithful companion. She held in her hands a small book and a few flowers, listlessly turning the pages and situating a blossom here or there. Beau and Fjord were seated at a small table just outside the bakery they were in front of, engaged in an arm wrestling contest. To no one’s surprise, Fjord was losing.

It took Caleb a moment to notice that they’d stopped walking. When he looked down, Nott was beside him, as if she had never moved, but in her hands she held a steaming mug of cider.

“When did you go get that?”

“Just now, while you were gazing at the purple one.”

“I hope you paid for that.”

“I did. She wasn’t grumpy.”

“Good.”

Together they joined their friends. Even thinking the word made Caleb’s brain grind to a halt, but he didn’t have time to consider it, because in that same moment, Molly looked up from the ground, smiling. “Where’s Jester?”

“We could not get in, but they let her. There is a spell against illusions and Nott and I could not slip past without revealing our true forms. But Frumpkin was with her, so I caught a glimpse. She is going to the book store for me and said she would meet us later tonight,” Caleb reported.

“Sucks, man,” Beau called from where she was lounging, triumphant while Fjord glowered, slumping back in his seat.

Molly gathered his cards together, tucking them away in his pocket. “I hate this coat. It’s warm but ugly and I live for aesthetic.” Half the group, including Caleb, flinched as he said it. _Live._ He carelessly bandied the word about, heedless to the reactions of the rest. “I want a new coat and I now have the money for it. Someone come with and give me your opinions? I’d take Jester, but she’s not here.”

“Yeah, hard pass,” Beau said, crossing her arms. “I’m going to challenge the next person I see to arm wrestle and Fjord can handle the bets, because he doesn’t want to go either.”

Fjord looked like he wanted to retort, but, as it was basically true, decided to limit himself to a few halfhearted grumbles of agreement.

“I’ll go with you!” Nott said, her cider sloshing in her excitement. “And Caleb too, since he doesn’t have anything better to do.”

“Yasha?” Molly threw her a glance over his shoulder.

“Of course, Molly.”

Together the four made their way through the winding streets, following Molly, his bearing light and buoyant. He hadn’t put the second hand coat back on, instead carrying it over his arm and it amazed Caleb to see how much of a difference it made in him.

“We can get you a new coat now, too, Caleb. This is the perfect opportunity.” Nott was still trying to convince him as they went, and he was wavering a bit, but was still not quite ready to budge.

The store Molly brought them to was second hand as well, but with far, far different options than those in Trostenwald. While Molly twirled around the store, more preoccupied with finding various things in Nott’s size than for his own use, Caleb and Yasha stood to one side, quietly and impassive.

Eventually, Yasha learned in a barely perceptible amount. “I don’t know what we are doing,” she confided.

“Me neither.” For once, Caleb felt kinship with the imposing woman.

“I just like seeing him happy.”

Caleb hummed in agreement. It was nice to see both Molly and Nott having such a good time.

“Thank you.” Yasha’s soft words startled Caleb and he turned to her, confused.

“I believe you already thanked me for helping to return him before.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. But, I mean it. I’ll just…stop talking now.” She seemed like she still was itching to say something, but their combined awkwardness kept either one of them from commenting on it and they continued instead to watch their respective best friends make utter adorable fools of themselves. Molly was chasing Nott around the shop with a bright orange knit sweater and Nott had a silver shawl flying out behind her from where it was firmly clasped in her deft hands.

“They’re like children,” Caleb commented, and when Yasha did not even chuckle softly, he glanced her way, confused. “What is it?”

“Well, how old is Nott?”

“In Goblin years, she tells me she is an adult, but no more than nine I think. Why?”

“Molly is like a child in a lot of ways. He’s not really like, two or anything. But he always attacked life with the same fervor as small children. They can be very vicious, very hardy, you know.”

Bewildered but also thrown by the truth of her words, Caleb put a question to her that had never before crossed his mind. “Yasha, where are you from?”

Caleb was treated to a long, discerning look and a heavy breath before she answered. “Xhorhas.”

Suddenly, many things about her made sense. He nodded in deference and they returned again to private thoughts. The other two were making another round. When he passed by them, Molly looked up, catching Caleb’s eye. The moment seemed to stretch on into infinity as Caleb felt connected to Mollymauk completely, yet couldn’t place why. Then he blinked and the moment was over, almost as if it had been nothing but a figment of his imagination, because Molly was already gone, little more than a blur between the displays.

It was another ten minutes before Molly traded his coat from Trostenwald (pockets carefully emptied of all manner of baubles and bits, both sets of cards included) for a long one of deep maroon in crushed velvet with polished silver buttons. The cut accentuated his striking figure and rakish posture, highlighting his blood red eyes.

“How do I look?” he asked. “It’s not my old one, but it’ll do in a pinch and I picked up some embroidery thread earlier, so you and I have something to do on the road, Yasha, darling.”

“You look very nice, Molly.” She smiled softly.

They left, Nott unable to convince Caleb to even try on a black coat she’d found in a similar style to his well-worn one. She didn’t press him, thankfully, and they made their way back to the tavern with little fanfare.

Caleb’s thoughts, which had been mild and contained to only their immediate plans ever since they had arrived in Zadash, were whirling uncontrollably with the possibilities of the future. The next day they would be setting out just after dawn and he would draw ever nearer to Rexxentrum, to Blumenthal, and to all of the people he was so desperately hiding from. All throughout the rest of the night, latent nerves, which had lain dormant ever since the Distraction (otherwise known as Mollymauk Tealeaf) came into his life, kept his brain firing on full and even the perfectly rendered memory of Molly in that one, infinite pause, beautiful in his carefully orchestrated chaotic disarray, wasn’t enough to settle him. Whatever respite Caleb had been enjoying for the past few weeks, dancing and sharing quiet moments and laughter, it had officially come to an end.


	6. 6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: The end of this chapter contains a TEMPORARY character death. If you would like, you can wait for the next chapter and read both at once if you're feeling fragile about the temp death. The story is completely finished, and only waiting on beta edits.  
> Or, there is a description in the end note, which you can jump to, if you wish to know what occurs before deciding to read or not. THERE IS NO PERMA DEATH IN THIS FIC. PERIOD. The majority of this chapter can be read without worrying about this element.  
> Additionally, certain parts of this chapter, as the second half is primarily battle, contain some descriptive violence, including the temporary death scene.  
> HUGE THANKS to meridas this chapter, because it is the longest one of the whole story, clocking in at 37 pages. You are a saint, meridas.
> 
> Also, much of the dialogue is directly from a few episodes of the show. Thanks to crtranscripts.

6.

_“You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintery light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was as though a young person died for no reason.”_

_~ Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast_

_“Autumn is as joyful and sweet as an untimely end.”_

_~ Remy de Gourmont_

 

The road to Shady Creek Run was hard and long and the bright briskness of Fessuran was waning into Quen’pillar. The weather worsened considerably and they were accosted not once, but twice by bandits grown desperate in the lateness of the year. Molly stripped them of their clothes as well as their dignity after besting them the first time and it was nigh on hilarious to see them make the same mistake twice, furiously backtracking the moment they realized. More importantly, it was good to get a chance to fight alongside the others. Beau’s and Yasha’s tactics and capabilities Molly knew well, but everyone else was unfamiliar and he hadn’t liked the idea of going into… whatever it was, without knowing how they worked as a unit. The inevitability of a confrontation with Lorenzo loomed on the horizon like a dark cloud across the sun. No one could ignore it.

They made their way eastward past the Felderwin Tillage. The road was winding and mostly empty of travelers. Despite the wearying way, time enough passed that Molly felt up to his usual strength, retraining his body, conditioning muscles and sharpening reflexes. In the mornings, he practiced with his swords against Fjord, slowly honing back the skills he’d once had little difficulty calling on. Not that he was ever the strongest or the most agile with a blade, but he’d always had a little bit of finesse with them. Under the moon, grown large and full as the harvest came ever nearer, he prayed over them, thanking the Moonweaver for his life, and asking her for other things. Guidance mostly.

The farther north they traveled, the more the colour faded from the surrounding landscape. In turn, the colour seemed to have gone out of Caleb and the others as well. It was a great boon when they came to a crossroads where a caravan was set up, selling various goods. It was Molly who insisted that they stopped there to pick up supplies before continuing onwards North along the Gravelway path; tents and winter clothing, bedrolls and the like to accommodate the colder weather. He was always cold now, shivering from the moment Caleb woke him, the wizard’s eyes curious, to the moment they went to sleep. His hot breath curled in the air like smoke in the wet, chill mornings.

Eventually, they moved on towards the Crispvale Thicket, bypassing the much-anticipated Hupperdook in favour of saving time. The way that Beau had been building it up, talk of an all-Gnome town, hard working during the day and a wild party at night, it was exactly the sort of thing they needed. All too soon it became clear that, if they were going to make it to Shady Creek on time, they couldn’t afford to stop. That, as much as the worsening weather, brought them all down. As cheery as Molly attempted to remain, there was only so much he could do before he no longer felt like joking or smiling either. He kept it up as best as he could, if only for the sake of the others, but it was obvious that they could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

It was at its worst a week into their journey. Molly woke unprompted by Caleb, who was growing more and more exhausted by the day. The morning was quite early; dawn several hours away, but Molly’s darkvision compensated well enough. He sat up in his tent, looking to his side. Fjord was nowhere to be seen, which meant that it was early enough that he and Yasha were still on watch. Yawning, Molly stretched himself out as he emerged from the tent. The air was bitterly cold and the grass crunched beneath his feet as he stepped out.

Much to his surprise, Jester was also awake, sitting with the other two around the meagre fire, an inch or two closer to Fjord than was strictly necessary. He smiled a little, happy to see that there was more blossoming romance among them. Beau and Yasha still managed to amuse him, even in the dullest moments, of course, but his own romantic fancies had seemingly stalled. Caleb was courteous to him in all ways, but still more distant than before, as if holding himself back at all times. Molly couldn’t be sure if it was because he was uncomfortable with the flirting or something else. Every once in a while, Nott would still give Molly a dirty look, to which he’d only respond graciously. Nott was sweet, and even if she wasn’t, she was the guardian at the gateway of Caleb’s heart.

Stepping towards the fire, Molly put out his hands to warm them, rubbing them together fiercely. The silvery scars on his hands were more raised than usual, the cold tightening his skin across the bones. “Three of you on watch? Not much of a rest tonight, then.”

“You’re not asleep either, mister,” Jester jabbed a finger in his direction halfheartedly.

“We just…” Fjord sighed. The stick he was rolling between his fingers twitched. Random spirals littered the ground at his feet. “Shit feels weird right now, you know?” He tossed the stick into the grass as Jester leaned in closer, hugging more tightly to him. Without issue, it seemed, he allowed it.

“Yeah, I get it.” Molly nodded in solidarity. “Want to get some sleep, Yasha, darling?”

She only shook her head in response, saying nothing the rest of the night. The oppressive emotion carried over into the morning. They puttered quietly about camp, readying things and taking down tents while the others still slept, when a stout figure came into view from the south on the hazy horizon of dawn, clanking towards them at a trundling pace.

At the sound, the rest of the group ducked their heads comically out of the tents, roughly simultaneously, now wide awake. Molly pulled his swords but stayed back as Nott moved forward stealthily with her crossbow. Beau followed her, crouched low to the ground, but not nearly low enough to hide her bright blue monk’s robes, nor her sleep-addled walk as she headed into a bush.

The figure moved out of the fog and Molly could see a Dwarven woman with short cropped, greasy reddish hair, her chin covered over in a five o'clock shadow. There was a cigarette just barely hanging from her mouth, a little smoke curling languid from its stubbed end. The clattering was due to her extremely battered, bloodied, rusted armor as well as the large weaponry she was adorned with: one large battle axe, medallion dangling from the end, and an equally large war hammer.

“Ah, son of a dick,” she said, hefting her weapons. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

Awkwardly, Beau stood. “Was it the blue? Am I too blue?”

Molly shook his head, cringing while he managed a smile and had to stifle a bemused laugh at their stilted conversation.

“I mean, you guys have your weapons drawn. I’m assuming– are we going to do this or what?” The dwarven fighter’s voice, Molly now noticed, was pleasantly light, though gruff. She squinted, suddenly, tilting her head. “I know I’ve got shit eyesight but…Beau?” A pause. She turned and her eyes widened. “Molly?! Holy fuck.”

“Keg?”

From somewhere ahead of him– Molly wasn’t quite sure – Nott’s voice floated into the air. “What’s going on up there?!”

“It’s Keg,” Beau called back.

“You’ve got a whole crew now, holy shit,” Keg exclaimed, finally relaxing.

“Yeah, we, uh, sort of fell together.” Beau shrugged. “The little green one who looks like she’s about to fucking kill you is Nott. Hobo Wizard over there is Caleb. Blue one is Jester, and that’s Fjord next to her. The big one is Yasha.” At the mention of Yasha’s name, Keg’s facial expression morphed through so many variations that Molly was hard pressed to determine the exact nature of her feelings in the moment. “And you already know Molly.”

Never in the two years he’d worked for the circus, had Molly been at odds with the feeling of being on display. Never, until Keg was looking hard at him, her dark eyes widening in confusion.

“Yeah. I…I—Yeah.”

“Right. Not dead. Hi, Keg.” His words felt forced as he tried to shrug everything off, but no one else seemed to notice as far as Molly was able to tell.

“We’re headed to the Run, Keg. We’re going to fucking kill Lorenzo and get all those people out of there.”

“Good. Me too. I—That’s where I’m headed, right now. I’ve wanted to for so long after…” She trailed away, eyes firmly fixed on Molly. “I’m so—It’s my—Oh fuck, I’m fucking sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” The mangled apology brought a wry smile to Molly’s face.

“Good to see you too, Keg. No need to be sorry. What happened, happened. I’m fine, it’s Beau and Yasha here who’re chomping at the bit. I just want to free the captives, that’s all.”

“Yeah, and I’ve got a job with the Gentleman. We’ve got a contact, Ophelia Mardun that—”

“Oh shit, say that again?”

Slowly, Beau repeated the name, looking curiously at her former ally. “Mardun.”

Keg looked a bit unsure, flexing the hands that held her weapons.

“Yes, I remember that name. I know the family. They’ve got connections there. In fact, the folks that the Iron Shepherds work for happen to hate that family.”

“This is all connected!” Nott called out, throwing her arms up in the air. Jester picked up the thread and soon she and Nott were calling back more and more ridiculous conspiracy theories to each other as they all moved back to the camp. Nervously, Molly resumed his packing, Caleb alongside him. Once, Yasha brushed past, putting a hand firmly on his shoulder and it was clear that she meant to comfort, but Molly didn’t feel quite like he needed comfort so much as he desired to just leave it all behind and start over. What did he need revenge for? What good would it do? The thoughts whirled, but it always came back to the captives, to the helpless folk that had been taken from their families and homes. He hated it more than anything, that they should be parted from their loved ones. As he took down one of the tents, he watched Caleb watching Nott and imagined the two of them separated. Imagined Caleb taken from him, or Yasha, or Beau. Even Jester and Fjord he had grown close enough to, to care for.

“I don’t care about Lorenzo,” he muttered lightly to himself. “I care about the people he took. That’s all. That’s why you’re doing this.”

“Are you okay, Mister Mollymauk?”

Molly whirled around and there was Caleb, a bedroll tucked under his arm, concern written plainly across his face.

“Yes, fine, dear. Just…thinking.”

“Ah. Verstanden.”

From that point forward, the journey felt charged with a different energy. The malaise of the road was gone, but there was a new anxiousness amidst their members, only compounded by the addition of Keg. They continued up the road to the Thicket, riding alternatingly in the cart or walking alongside of it. Conversation had picked up, that was for certain. Jester was happy to rattle on to Keg, who mostly just smiled and nodded, bewildered. Fjord, for all his charismatic energy, was quiet fairly often, a pensive expression permanently etched on his features. It led Molly to wonder just what he was thinking about, but he never got close enough to ask.

In the cart, Caleb was once more focused on some magical task or another. For lack of anything else to study, or perhaps, lack of _desire_ to study anything else so thoroughly, Molly watched him intently as he walked behind. There was no doubt in his mind how he felt. In Alfield, he’d been giddy with love. Already, things were different. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been in love then (he most certainly had been in love long before that realization), but rather that he’d begun to recognize that, though he knew that Caleb wasn’t ready, he hadn’t quite considered how long ‘not ready’ might mean. He accepted it, but that wasn’t to say that he didn’t feel the sting of the secret acutely. Even the gentle wave of Caleb’s auburn hair in the wind sent tingles up his spine, not to mention how lovely he looked as the sun gilded him with light like a dancing flame, when it finally escaped for a moment from behind the oppressive cloud cover. Love unrequited was an agony Molly was willing to bear if it meant that, someday, Caleb would look back at him and feel the same. If those with patience were rewarded, Molly vowed he would be the most patient of all, loving Caleb well, if only from afar.

The nights ran together as they came upon the Crispvale Thicket. It was just reaching dusk, the smoky smudge of orange against deep blue the only signal of sunset, as the first trees became more than just a haze in the distance. Fjord urged the horse and cart towards the thicket until it would go no further that way. They unhitched Loaf, giving him to Jester to lead as the rest pushed the cart just beyond the edge of the trees, hiding it from view of the road. They made camp there, under the cover of night and forest’s edge, Caleb putting up his silvery thread methodically around them as the others went to sleep.

They set watch, Molly and Fjord taking the first go. As darkness deepened, the Tiefling’s sharp eyes narrowed. He tugged on Fjord’s sleeve. “Hey, there’s another campfire through there.” He pointed into the distance. About two hundred feet off, the matching glimmer of flame was sparking between the cover of foliage and shrubbery.

Long finished with the thread, but tucking away a book, Caleb came up beside them, squinting. “I do not see it, but perhaps Frumpkin can?” With a wrinkle of his forehead and a snap of his fingers, an owl with strangely familiar markings appeared on the human’s arm.

“You can do that?” Fjord asked as he and Molly looked on in amazement.

“Ja, well, Frumpkin likes being a cat best, so the sooner he is back to normal, the better. Now, I will send him off, please, someone steady me?”

Caleb blinked and when his eyes opened again they were the familiar glowing blue. One hand wavered in the air, looking for support. Molly moved to his side, taking Caleb’s hand in his and putting his other hand on his shoulder as Frumpkin swooped away, a silent spy in the night. A few moments passed before the wizard began to speak, leaning in just a little bit towards Molly.

“Ja, okay, so there is a campfire, for sure and a little cauldron is over it—oh that’s creepy—it’s smoking quite a bit, that liquid in it. And there’s an old lady. Very tall, but hunched over perhaps? Grey skin, white hair…Ah, ja, not human I don’t think, not with those ears. There’s a hut too. Oh!” Caleb’s light sway stilled and Molly grasped at him more tightly. “There’s a little boy by the fire. This is reminding me of those stories that my mother told me when I was very young. Like the one I told you, Molly. Not good ones, things to scare me into following the rules, ja?” Caleb blinked and he was back again. Reluctantly, Molly let go.

“A child?” Fjord asked.

“And a woman...or not.”

They looked between each other, all thinking similar thoughts. “Human or not, I’m not the first face they’ll want to see, I’m sure,” Molly concluded, not missing the looks on his companion’s faces at the statement. Despite their pity, he knew it to be true.

“So what’ve we got going for us then? Because they sure as hell wouldn’t want to see me either,” Fjord added, rounding on Caleb. Molly turned to him as well.

“You’ve got a friendly owl,” he said pointedly.

Without issue, Caleb nodded, putting his hand on Molly’s shoulder before blinking away again. There was just a moment before Caleb’s grip tensed and he swatted Molly with his free hand. “Wake the others,” he hissed.

Between them, Fjord and Molly managed to get the rest up, leaving Caleb to lean up against a tree, blind in the night while he continued to spy on through Frumpkin.

“What’s going on?” Keg grumbled as Nott ran in front of them, straight towards Caleb. Molly wasn’t surprised in the least. She seemed reassured that Caleb was alright, despite having no reason to have worried. It was sweet to be sure.

“There’s a boy. And an old woman.” He pointed again. Keg, with her poor eyesight, obviously couldn’t see it, but she nodded as though she did. Molly felt a firm arm come around him from behind and instinctually recognized Yasha’s comforting presence.

“A boy?” Jester asked, concerned.

“I’m not sure, but I think there is a young child that’s in danger there. I think we are supposed to care?” At Caleb’s words, Molly’s eyebrows drew up practically into his hairline.

“Wait, why do we give a shit?” Keg asked again, armor clanking as she shifted. Everyone around her cringed.

“It’s a baby,” Nott replied, and Molly could see that she was looking hard at Caleb even as she said it.

“Ah, fuck,” Keg said, though everyone was thinking it. Beau stumbled up, pushing her goggles down.

“We must go now.” Urgency finally broached Caleb’s voice. “I see another figure. Another large figure. And the woman…she looked dead. She did not look natural.”

The group made their way through the forest, spreading out around the area. Molly and Yasha stuck together, creeping as stealthily as possible through the underbrush. Off in the distance, quite suddenly, Molly heard someone take a tumble. There was yelling from the old woman and the distinct sound of Beau’s brash tones as she flailed through the conversation.

Without warning, the old woman’s eyes landed on Molly and Yasha, who sheepishly slunk out of the bushes, the rest following—all at least, save Caleb and Keg.

“Uh, yeah, we’re a lot.” Beau gestured to the others around her. As Molly emerged, he could see that the woman was actually a Firbolg, like the enchanter, Pumat Sol. She looked kind, though tired and he could empathize.

“I’m sorry. I am Jumnda. I’m a healer in my aged years for the Guiatao Clan. We are small in number and, now, yet smaller still. I apologize, I’ve been on edge for a number of days. There are folk around who would do us harm. You seem to know of them…or have heard of them, at least?”

“Yes. We were on our way to…handle the problem,” Beau replied. “They’ve taken a lot of people, and done more harm to others.” She shot a quick glance in Molly’s direction, and though he didn’t look away, he once more felt the discomfort similar to when Keg stared at him that morning.

“This little one is Ombo. He is awake now, which is good fortune. I’ve been trying to bring him back to health for a couple of days. This one is Nila.” She gestured behind her to the quiet, dark shadow of another Firbolg woman standing near the treeline opposite them.

“Is he your son?” Beau asked. Nila shook her head in the negative.

“He is part of the clan,” Jumnda sighed heavily. “Now, we take care of him.”

“Oh, but, what happened to the rest?” Jester asked, looking sadly over at the small boy.

“Three days back, the clan was in celebration for the coming of age for young Duma. Roasted boar was prepared, and the twenty of us were dancing around the fire when the murderers came. Slew Toffah and Wolya with their arrows as they danced together. Others fought. Fennis died protecting me, and I managed to grab Ombo here as he had been beaten within an inch of his life to unconsciousness. We fled. But I watched as they grabbed others in nets, pulling them away as they screamed and yet made no noise.”

Beau and Molly exchanged a glance. Hidden still, in the forest behind them, they could hear Keg shifting. The Iron Shepherds. There was no doubt in their minds.

“When they left, I returned to nurse those I could back to health. Nila, by some luck, was off when the attack happened. She returned to find her love and child taken.”

All eyes shifted to Nila as she stepped forward. She was tall as well, far taller than Jumnda, with dark fur and a soft, deerlike face, her ears flopping to the side. The garments she wore were darkly dyed, with small, hand-done detailings, tassels and a necklace of beautiful red feathers. Her gentle presence filled the small clearing.

Soft and low, Nila spoke. “Hello.” She looked at each of them in turn. “You say you are going after these people who have done my clan such wrong?”

Several nods were all the answer given. Her presence, though exceedingly gentle, was imposing. There was an intensity to her that would not let Molly go; he felt riveted as he looked on at the strong, gentle Firbolg lady, lingering sadness in her eyes.

“I have abilities,” she continued. “I was going to go alone, but now, you are here. So I will go with you. There’s one in particular that I want to use against these evil people. I just want to say that I’m ready. I’m ready to do things that I’ve never done before. To use my abilities to get Asar back. My son.”

Jumnda huffed at her disapprovingly. “Foolish. You ought to accept nature’s fate.”

A dark cloud seemed to hang over Nila in the firelight. “I cannot. I have been kind and peaceful and to myself many years. No more.” She turned back to the group. “You need me, and I cannot do this alone.”

“Well, what can you do? These abilities of yours. We also have abilities,” Fjord began. “But it would be good to know, if you’re set on coming with us.”

“I can take on the shapes of many animals. That is not so difficult. But my other ability… I will tell you because I cannot do it all the time, but when I am ready, I will summon lightning from the sky and fry him, destroy him, the one who took my family! And I can do it again and again and again!” Quite intensity rushed through her and Molly felt an electric thrill, as if Nila had truly called down lightning from the sky. Intoxicated by the sensation, he plopped down on the ground by the boy.

“Well, shit. That sounds great,” Beau replied.

“More like FUCKING AWESOME.” Jester’s words were almost as intense. “You’re a good Mom. We’re going to help you get your family back.” Something in her voice hitched and Molly recognized it, that emotion. Recognized it from Nott talking about Caleb, from the banter between himself and Yasha. Family was everything. _Everything._ Jester, it seemed, understood.

A quick glance at Fjord, ever mysterious, revealed little, but he nodded in agreement anyways. “You two can come out now, I think.” He summoned Caleb and Keg forth. Trepidatious, Caleb slunk from the shadows to Nott’s side, Keg clanging away behind him.

“Well, you know our story, now, what is yours?” Jumnda, ever cantankerous, eyed them harshly.

“A few of us fought them before.” Beau said, looking over to Molly. Across her features, the ghost of failure made itself at home. She turned away. “It didn’t go so well. We’ve only just managed to regroup and now we’re headed to their camp to take them out. Especially Lorenzo.”

“I just want to free those he took,” Molly piped up from where he was seated. Resolutely, he stared at the ground, digging his claws repeatedly into the damp earth, carving little ditches like a miniature farm field. “I don’t need to be avenged. I’m alive, Beau, that’s all that matters. Please, don’t go doing something reckless because of me.”

Tension laced the air. Jumnda harrumphed again. “You’d do well to listen to that one. Go in with a clear head if you insist on doing so at all.” Beau looked about to respond, but Fjord elbowed her hard in the ribs. “We have a common enemy,” the elder continued. “You are welcome to stay with us this night. I have a tea made that might help you in your journey ahead.”

“Well, I genuinely don’t know how to say no to tea,” Molly replied lightly.

A few stayed up and sipped at the liquid, but one by one, the group filtered forward, even Caleb who had resolutely stayed about twenty feet back, as was his wont. The tea, while not necessarily delicious by any means, filled Molly with a sense of rest and relief, and the restlessness which had plagued him so heavily filtered away as sleep took him without issue.

Morning came with Caleb’s rough hand on his cheek. Within the woods, morning was dark, despite the few soft yellow rays that filtered through what remained of the leaves above. Without a word, Caleb moved away once it seemed that Molly wouldn’t fall directly back to sleep. While he wished that the other man would stay by him, Molly didn’t begrudge him his sleep and watched as he curled up around Nott’s diminutive form once more.

Molly sat up. Ombo sat by the still-smoldering fire, cooking rudimentarily. The little boy turned and smiled at him but said nothing, and Molly smiled back on instinct. As he sat down next to the small Firbolg, Ombo handed him one of the wooden sticks, upon which was speared some small creature.

“It’s breakfast.” Molly turned. Nott was crouched behind him a ways, watching. Caleb was sitting up again as well. Rest it seemed, was lost to them. Ombo never spoke, but he continued to smile at them as they all ate breakfast together, the silence broken only by the rumbling snores of their other companions.

Frumpkin swooped down, momentarily startling Molly, who had forgotten that he was in owl form. The familiar landed on the ground before Ombo, shuffling back and forth. It took a moment before Molly recognized what was happening. He chanced a quick look at Caleb, who was smiling softly at the scene and Molly’s heart swelled. After a few moments, Frumpkin fluttered up and landed on Ombo’s head, settling himself into the thick, curly, dark hair. Ombo froze, startled, alternating between looking up at Frumpkin on his head and curiously over at Caleb.

The others woke one by one, also partaking of breakfast and sharing a little conversation with Jumnda. She gave them herbs and a salve, just in case, and some better directions, but Molly was only half listening. Ombo fascinated him.

From his pocket, Molly pulled the deck of cards, swiping one without looking. The Moon. He fumbled the trick, the charm he’d pulled from his pouch visible, but Ombo looked amused anyways. He put out his hand, offering it to the child, who took it, happily. Frumpkin ruffled his feathers and Molly reached out to scratch him fondly. It felt good, to simply do something to make someone smile again. In the time since Zadash, it seemed that they’d hardly had cause to smile much at all, unless Nott made some off-colour comment, and even then, it was less a smile and more a face of serious, yet amused, concern. Molly missed the circus, missed the easy laughter. After all, what harm were tricks when they afforded such joy? If he had ever had a purpose in life, that was it. To bring joy. Feeling restored, Molly put the cards back away, resolving not to lose sight of the important things again.

Eventually, they packed their things, pushed the cart back out onto the road and prepared to set off, yet another person amongst them. Nine, all told.

“Thank you for hopefully doing some good in this dark world,” Jumnda said as she saw them off, Ombo clinging to her robes. “Please,” she said, looking to each one of them, gaze lingering lastly on Nila. “Be safe.”

“We will try, thank you.” It was Beau who spoke, Fjord giving her a congratulatory pat on the shoulder as she whispered quite loudly, “was that good? Did I do good?” to everyone’s amusement.

A chorus of support went out from those around as they started on their way. Molly was walking alongside again, a little more determination and resolution to his step than before. “You were nearly charming,” he said with a winning smile, and listened happily as the conversation continued around him, Nott and Jester declaring her to be ‘charming adjacent.’ The uplifting feeling lasted a while, though not nearly long enough. All the same, the malaise was cleared and Molly felt better for the first time in several days, despite how close the dark inevitability of his reunion with Lorenzo was growing.

They traveled the whole day long, eventually reaching the outskirts of the Crispvale Thicket. Before long, the path they were on met up with the Glory Run Road, which, according to Keg, was the path they would need to take. It headed northwards to Nogvurot, but eventually they would have to keep going, regardless of the path, towards the Quannah Breach. To Molly, it was all gibberish. He’d been around much of the Empire, but never so far north. Gustav had always preferred to stay in more southerly regions, for reasons Molly had never asked him to explain. Everything around him was new. The warm colours of the south faded into muted greys and tans as scrubbed bushland took over the rolling hills of the landscape.

After the first night, they began to look for a place to camp with little success. The best place they found had an aura of death so strong that Molly almost felt the need to retch. No one else seemed to notice. Where they stopped, the road fed between two small hillocks. There was a single tree growing atop one, and a few thin shrubs, but they were already pressing on exhausted again.

Nott and Keg were going at it. They seemed to have some manner of natural animosity towards each other, and Molly couldn’t stand it, feeling as poor as he already was. He walked off to the other side of the mound from where they’d hidden the cart, trying his best to stem the pounding in his head and the ache in his chest, which was back with a resounding power.

He leaned up against a small stone outcropping, shaking as he tried to regain composure and frustrated by his reaction to some, unknown factor. It took almost an hour before he felt well enough to rejoin the group, wasting no time in making himself some of tea from the herbs that Jumnda had gifted them. While he was sipping, Nila came over to him and sat down, looking with gentle brown eyes into what felt like the very essence of his soul.

“You are not well.”

Molly forced a smile. “I’m fine. It’s passed.”

“Whatever it was, you do not have to suffer alone.” She looked up, and Molly followed her gaze. Both Yasha and Caleb were watching him closely. While Nila said nothing more, the implication was there all the same.

“Thank you.” He managed a tired smile, which she returned in like. “You’re very kind.”

That night was interesting. Molly and Beau took first watch, Fjord and Yasha took second, with Caleb offering to take the last watch alone, as was fast becoming the norm. Hunkered down by the corner, cloaks and coats pulled tightly, Beau was even more awkward than usual.

“Want to gamble?” he asked her, just as she seemed finally ready to speak. It threw her off a bit, but she looked at him curiously.

“I’m not much of a gambler, you’re thinking of Jester.”

“No, I’m not.”

Molly’s brows drew in as he considered her, blinking. Something in her expression changed, and she coughed, shifting.

“What?”

“This is a game we used to play.” He pulled out his cards and set the deck down on the ground between them. “Put a question on the deck. Whoever draws the highest card has to answer it.”

“You know I fucking hate tarot cards, Molly.”

“I know.” Again, something in her shifted, though try as he might, Molly couldn’t gage precisely what.

“I don’t want anything to do with them.” Beau crossed her arms firmly, not budging an inch.

 _Just one more try._ “I’ll throw one out there for you. What’s the best lie you’ve ever told?”

“The best lie I’ve ever told?”

“I’ll give you mine, if you give me yours.” _Got her._

Quick, almost faster than his eye could register, Beau snatched up a card, holding it close to her face, expression uncompromising. Molly picked his too, and smirked. “You can be vague, it’s alright. I picked quite-“

Beau flipped the card out to face him. “This one has a pretty big number on it.” It was indeed, higher than his.

“Well, shite.” He went into the story, the time he impersonated the reincarnated royalty, able to conjure up the situation from memory with ease. He’d told Beau other stories, when they’d traveled together before, but never with as much honesty as he divulged over the cards.

“I’ll tell you one of my best lies, the one I’m most proud of,” Beau said shortly after he wrapped up his tale, and he passed her his flask. “Yeah. There was a politician in the town where I grew up that I didn’t like very much. Didn’t like his wife, either. Wanted to find some dirt on them. Pretended to be a house hand for them, a little handyman. Found some dirt, found out they were cheating on each other and destroyed their relationships and their lives.” After a solemn moment, in which Molly refrained from interjecting, Beau continued. “Maybe I shouldn’t be proud of that actually.”

There it was. Molly softened. “You’re a good friend to have, Beau, and a terrible enemy to make.” It was enough, it seemed, as they continued to sip on the burning liquid, scalding their throats and stomachs with its taste. Conversation petered away and eventually they were relieved of their shift. The strange feeling Molly had never quite went away, even as he fell into a restless sleep, nightmares following him composed of screams, dark laughter and the languid dripping of red on white snow.

* * *

Caleb woke for his watch to a light dusting of frost. The previous night’s dew was frozen in perfect droplets over the ground and the fabric of their tents. Yasha and Fjord lumbered sleepily past him, hardly acknowledging his presence. A few hours passed and Caleb found himself considering everything that had happened so far. In another life, another series of circumstance, perhaps he would have found himself considering leaving them all behind in the night, even Nott, as though he had never been present at all. Frumpkin hooted and flew down, perching on his shoulder. Caleb put up an arm, allowing the familiar to step onto it comfortably, and he held Frumpkin close, petting his feathers gently. In another life…

“You have a mission,” he muttered to himself. “You have a purpose that is not aligned with theirs. As it is, the alliance is only a temporary one. They have no plans beyond this one thing. And you? What are you doing here, still? You have not even asked Mister Mollymauk if you can study the nature of his blood magic. You’ve hardly had cause to even witness it, so why stick around at all? To finish a man against whom you hold no personal grudge, at great risk? To free helpless innocents? You cannot be redeemed, so why even bother doing such things at all?” Frumpkin hooted, prompting Caleb to hold him a bit closer. “I wish you were a cat again, but this is good right now,” he replied to the fae cat in owl form. “I am sorry.” A beat. “You should just get up and go, but you won’t. That damned ache, oh, you won’t go, no. No. You won’t. You are stupid. Stupid in the heart. Vollständing Verruckt.” Another pause. “If you go, who will wake Molly?”

Even Frumpkin, it seemed, had no answer for that. Instead of moving, Caleb remained precisely where he was for the duration of his watch, until the first glimpse of the sun was reflected in the clouds. He stood, cold from the frozen flakes that hadn’t quite melted on his skin, and dutifully went to Molly’s tent to wake him.

Two more days’ travel. That was all it took to get them to Shady Creek Run. Over the course, Caleb kept watch on Molly. The night they’d stayed by the two hillocks he’d seemed off, unwell, but his constitution was seemingly restored without issue. All the same, it bothered Caleb to see Molly ill in any form. His spirits, which seemed buoyed by interactions with little Ombo, were obviously waning again. Everyone’s were. The much-anticipated confrontation with the Iron Shepherds was finally nearing its realization; various party members were reacting in different ways. Caleb knew that he’d been even more reclusive and pensive than usual. Nott made fewer jokes; Beau, too, had grown reserved, and Jester was the only one left trying to bolster everyone’s spirits, singing silly travelling songs, which Nott occasionally joined in on. Keg was of an almost constantly sour disposition, unless interacting with Beau. Caleb had managed a smirk more than once as they bantered, though he noticed that Yasha was watching the two closely. It was almost sweet how, when Beau wasn’t focused entirely on trying to gain Yasha’s attention, that was when she managed to get it, and then, on top of that, not even notice.

They were busy determining how they would get Keg through the pass when Fjord came up alongside him casually. “Can we count on you, Caleb?” he asked without preface or prelude, not even bothering to look at Caleb, instead watching the horizon, face curiously blank.  

Caleb matched his outward gaze. “You are asking if I am going to abandon you in the middle of the fight.” It was not a question by any means. “I have had many opportunities to leave, Fjord, and have not taken any of them. No, I will not run. I have run on many occasions, for many reasons. In some ways, I am running even now. But I will not turn away from this. I have made my choice.”

That seemed to be enough for Fjord, as he pursed his lips with a thoughtful nod, before walking away. Whether or not he truly believed Caleb was left to be seen.

It did not take long before they finally agreed on a way to hide Keg and were off once more. The rolling hills gave way to a flat section of plain out from which the mountainous façade rose. As they rounded the final bend on the path, before the gate, they made their final preparation. The guards were easy enough to bribe, though there were a few tense moments where it seemed like they might be in for some manner of trouble, but they made it through the Quannah Breach without further incident. Caleb felt he could almost breathe easy, if it weren’t for the sense of impending doom that had fallen over them.

“First we have to speak with Ophelia,” Beau reminded them. “Then we can take care of the Iron Shepherds, free some people, get Nila’s family back and after all that we’ll handle whatever else it is that we need to do for this lady and the Gentleman.”

They stayed one night at a brothel, gathering intel on the mysterious Ophelia Mardun, before heading out for her estate just outside the border of the Savalier Wood, a place called Sybaritic. Said intel included asking the curly headed fellow, Champ, at the front desk of the brothel and a smell test from Nila’s mysterious bag of ‘treasures’.

As they passed through the ramshackle town on vague information, Caleb contemplated Fjord’s earlier query. In the calm before the storm he didn’t feel the pressing urge to up and disappear the way he had the night on the Glory Run Road. Instead, an eerie peace was settling within him—perhaps, he speculated, a byproduct of being, for the first time ever, outside the boundaries of the Dwendalian Empire.

The estate was a two story affair, of dark red imported woods, surrounded by a tall stone fence topped with wicked-looking spear tips, maybe six inches in length. Though a few looked broken and bent, they were still dangerous, some covered in the long-dried evidence of a fool’s attempt to scale it. Within the courtyard was a greying garden, rose bushes with blossoms dull and dried, covered over with frost. At the center was a small fountain, full of only slushed snow.

Reluctantly, the guards of Estate Sybaritic led them inside, Beau’s mention of the Gentleman enough to get their attention, though it was Fjord’s sweet talking that did the trick. The foyer they were led to was grand, or, at least, it had been once. The lingering scents of a recent meal made Caleb’s stomach growl, but he ignored it, instead taking in the ruined finery around him. There was a stately staircase with a deep red carpet that opened grandly up to a landing, where upon two more stairways on either side made to a second floor. At the top of the first landing was a window, grandiose in design, though the view was nothing but the black, shriveled leaves and broken catches of sunlight filtered through the forest behind it, which obscured any view. Various oil paintings of high calibre hung on the walls: a pure blooded Elven figure, androgynous in nature, and a woman in gaudy finery, almost too much so, as if forcing the matter. The entire set up was garish.

Caleb shifted nervously, uncomfortable with the bevy of guards surrounding them as they waited. Then, he heard the footsteps.

He saw her hand first, black talons curving wickedly from the dark grey skin of delicate fingers as they slid lightly over the balustrade. Ophelia Mardun, it appeared, was a Tiefling. Her horns curled up in bony crests that reached to two large points behind her head, around which lay fine, silky black hair, reaching to her ankles. It swished elegantly as she walked, although her footfalls came with heavy purpose that seemed in opposition with her bearing. Her eyes were a vibrant yellow, completely pupil-less, like Molly’s, and utterly discerning. She was grinning, a smile to match her claws, two viciously fanged canines protruding just over her bottom lip. It was the sort of smile Caleb had seen many a time when he was at the Academy, though most hadn’t the fangs to complete the picture. The grin of someone in complete and utter control, so much so that they wanted you to know it. A dangerous smile. Perhaps the most dangerous of all. She was clothed in tailored finery, a sharply-cut crimson coat of militaristic design, with golden epaulets on the shoulders and shining golden buttons to match. Were he not so entranced and wary, Caleb would have looked immediately to Nott in hopes of stopping her before she got any ideas, though somehow, Caleb thought that it wasn’t going to be a problem.

Via entrance alone, Ophelia exuded an air of powerful aggression. Her presence filled the room, making Caleb feel very, very small as she looked to each of his companions in turn, gaze resting for a full beat on each before she moved to the next as she took her quite reading.

When she finally spoke, Caleb recognized the accent immediately. Zemnian.

“So. You bring tidings from the Gentleman, you say.”

Normally, Caleb would have let Fjord do the talking, but something in him knew that the familiar accent would do more for their cause than Fjord’s silvery tongue and fine words. Even as he opened his mouth, Caleb was unsure what possessed him to speak up, regardless. “That is correct, ja.”

It was minute, but Ophelia cocked her head in response, while Fjord and Beau barely kept themselves from whipping around to stare, gobsmacked, in his direction.

“Well, you have invoked the name of my comrade. You have my attention, do not squander it. Why are you here?” she inquired, tone clipped.

“Well, we will be plain. He has sent us. He has told us that you are in need of assistance, and he has deemed us worthy to provide it.”

When Nott chose that moment to speak, Caleb had to firmly bite against his cheeks to keep from doing anything rash. “And you are Ophelia?”

“I am.”

“Good. Just making sure. Could have been anyone.”

“Thorough, I appreciate that. Well, so, you are the help that he sent. You’re on time, at least. Thank you for coming.” Her thanks sounded moderately sincere, which was more than Caleb had anticipated. She waved to the guards. “Be at ease, go watch the back walls, make sure nobody tries to sneak in while we’re talking.” While the rest scattered, two guards remained vigilant at the door. “Now,” she began again, considering them. “How much have you been told?”

Each word was chosen carefully, each movement calculated, and Caleb sought to match her, falling back into the habits of his youth more easily than he cared to dwell on. He laughed politely. “Not very much.”

It was Caleb she considered closest that time, looking him up and down, head to toe, very, very closely, leaving the wizard feeling as though he was being picked apart. He saw someone bristle and tense in his peripherals, but refocused on the intimidating woman before him. Ever so slightly, her tongue ran across her lip, flicking at one sharp canine. She sighed lightly, but Caleb saw it for the dramatic effect it was, and did not bother with it further.

“I’ve had an open line of shipments to Zadash through our mutual friend for some time, made for a beneficial arrangement for many years.” Next to Caleb, Beau straightened, looking a little harder at Ophelia, and Caleb got the sense that she’d just learned something about the imposing lady that he and the rest did not. “However, my most trusted team of smugglers that handle that route and knew it well were slain a little over a month ago.”

“Do you know by whom?” Fjord asked, voice dripping decorum and losing a bit of its customary twang. Everyone, it seemed, was full of surprises that night.

“Well, at first we thought it was maybe the dire beasts of the wood around us, but our internal priest was able to divine the source of their demise. In other words, at the hands of the Jagentoths.”

“The family that controls the Iron Shepherds.” It was Keg, surprisingly, who spoke up, and Ophelia’s gaze was temporarily redirected.

“You look…familiar. What is your name?”

“Keg. I used to work for them.”

Crossbows were suddenly trained on their backs.

“What assurances can I have that I need not strike you down where you stand?”

For a moment, it seemed that everything was going to crumble into disaster when she questioned Keg’s loyalties, but a deception, for once, rolled easily off of Keg’s lips. “They killed one of our friends.”

It was true enough, Caleb reasoned, although Molly was technically standing there with them in the moment.

“Intriguing. Very well. We and these Jagentoths have feuded for quite some time between these tribes. Many times it has come to bloodshed, but now with the Grudge Gang and the Taskers making open justice throughout the realm messy, we must take to other means. We cannot deliver our retribution with hands that can be traced back to us. As this affects both the Marduns and The Gentleman, he is wise to send you, and this kindness shall be repaid in person. The Jagentoths have slaughtered and stolen from us a major source of contraband and income. It’s only fair we do the same in kind. We here of the Estate Sybaritic require you to cut one of the limbs of their business. Kill their best handymen. Hunt the Iron Shepherds. It shouldn’t be hard if vengeance against them for your friend is what you truly came here seeking. A two-in-one, if you will.”

“One more time, bitte?” Caleb asked, hardly believing what he was hearing.

“Hunt the Iron Shepherds.”

“Your accent is thick.”

“Yes, well, I have not been as far south as some of you, I can tell.”

Caleb did a few quick calculations. “No, I appreciate hearing the old tongue again.”

There was moment of pause before Ophelia’s grin widened across her face like a slash. “Nun, bleib stehen,“ she told him with a smirk. "Last I heard, they are still out on the road. You are lucky to have missed them,” she informed them, continuing to speak of their hideaway. The Sour Nest. Aptly named, Caleb thought to himself. Even the sound of it soured in his mind. “It’s a difficult infiltration, but it’s your best chance of catching them off guard.” Ophelia continued. She looked down at them loftily, her head tilting to a haughty angle. “If you have other ideas, we are open to suggestions. Am I to believe that you have been sent,” she eyed them all, some with more skepticism than others, “as trained killers, able to deal with this?”

Caleb picked up the thread once more. “Some of us are trained killers for sure, and we have picked up help as we have seen fit. Everyone has been carefully selected, carefully vetted. I’m sure that with your input on their mannerisms and habits, their routines, we will do quite well.”

She seemed to reconsider for a moment, piercing Caleb with her disconcerting gaze. “All right. Let us hope that the priest was not incorrect. Either way, I would like to see them taken down a peg. So do you accept this offer?”

Beau handled the conversation from there, Keg and Fjord interjecting a the right moments. Caleb took the chance to look at Jester, who had surprised him by not speaking at all, and found that she was looking very hard at Ophelia, almost the same expression on her face as the lady she was so seriously regarding.

Molly, on the other hand, was wearing a very unfamiliar expression. Though he’d seemed less himself of late, this was something entirely different. His eyes were narrowed, almost in challenge, body coiled tightly as if ready to spring into action, tail whipping rapidly, anxiously. It was obvious that Molly did not like their host one bit, though the exact reasoning escaped Caleb.

He turned back into the conversation just in time to hear Beau ask about potential assistance, should they require it. Ophelia mentioned a few different groups, eventually finishing with the mention of a burial plot called the Blooming Grove and its strange, hermetical priest. Suddenly, money was being debated, and before Fjord could interject, Caleb found himself once more smoothing over the situation.

“Ja, this is a pre-existing arrangement that’s outside of negotiation at the moment. I understand. We will take care of what you are asking.” He caught and held her gaze, though it was far more difficult a feat than he hoped he was making it seem.

Eventually, Ophelia gave. “Good. That’s what I like, straightforward and working to the fine print. Very good.”

Devilish, Caleb’s lips curled upwards. “Zemnian,” he said, and her heavy gaze on him deepened to something more than he was comfortable with. It was a very good thing the conversation was over because he knew that look, intimately. The memory of Astrid’s face floated before him until she was superimposed onto Ophelia and Caleb had to roll his shoulders back to shake off the haze.

She was already stalking back up the stairs, orders given to the guards, when Caleb’s focus fully returned. There was a very deliberate hitch in her step and she paused, turning on the stair, her long sheaf of hair swaying at the movement. In the shadow cast as she looked down from above, Ophelia’s yellow eyes glowed and her smile shone eerily. “Do not disappoint me. I can be very frustrated when I’m disappointed.”

And that was that.

They were led out a back way, Caleb fighting back the renewed onslaught of memories. Astrid’s dangerously sparkling eyes as they’d attended an official function, bedecked in uniforms of a similar red to Ophelia’s, occasions on which Caleb’s fine diction and compelling deference had won him acclaim and friendship, or at least what passed for such a thing at the capitol. Much of the journey out of the estate and into the Savalier Wood behind them was a blur. Someone’s hands eventually found their way to his shoulder, guiding him as he walked in a stupor through the purplish grey of strange decaying vegetation—cursed or haunted, Caleb knew not, but unnatural to be sure.

“—don’t like her.” It was the first thing he comprehended in a while, and it had come from Yasha’s mouth. “She’s…devious.”

“I don’t like her either,” Jester said with an air of finality.

“We stick to the plan,” Fjord piped up. “We’re getting more than just personal satisfaction and a good deed out of this now. We’re getting paid. Two birds with one stone. Let’s not mess up now, just because the Gentleman’s lady friend is shifty. The Gentleman was shifty too, don’t forget.”

“Yes, but at least he didn’t look at Caleb like he wanted to devour him whole.” Molly spat the words out bitterly, surprising Caleb with his vehemence, his nose wrinkled up in distaste. It was Molly’s hand on his shoulder, gripping there securely, he realized then. Molly guiding him away.

“She was Zemnian. It…made the most sense,” he spoke finally, garnering himself renewed attention. Nott, of course, was the first to reply.

“You were great! You handled yourself so well. Man, you were rock-solid in there!” She hugged him about the legs, but he could not find it within himself to be heartened by her congratulations.

“Stop it. I am nauseous. Let’s go kill a bunch of people.”

“Well, you didn’t have to do it. We have Fjord for this shit.” Beau looked at him askance.

“Again, Zemnian.”

“Here please,” Nila pressed something into his hand. “Have a good berry.”

He ate it though it was sour, and they trudged onwards apace. Someone had cast _pass without a trace_ , Caleb wasn’t sure who, but it made it much easier going and they followed Keg’s lead as far as she was able as the day passed them by, leading into early evening.  

“So, when are we going to smash some bad people?” Jester asked, fists gripping tightly.

“Soon. First, reconnaissance. I have Frumpkin,” Caleb reminded his hasty friend.

“I can also assist,” Nila said and before their very eyes, she turned into a tiny mouse with sleek, patterned fur similar to her own, but with one distinctive white stripe down her back.

“Oh, that’s good.” Caleb breathed while Keg uttered a comparatively loud “Holy shit!” in response.

“So, I will have Frumpkin lift you over the wall, okay?” He asked, Nila squeaking back in the affirmative.

Some telepathic instructions and a few tense moments later, Frumpkin was dodging arrows from bored guards, nearly sending Caleb into a heart attack before swooping low to drop Nila inside the courtyard. They waited, breath baited, unmoving for over an hour as Nila occasionally squeaked her replies to Nott and Caleb’s messages. The three squeaks that signified a call to get her out came eventually and once more, Frumpkin braved the bored guard’s arrows to return Nila to the group.

“What did you see? What did you see?” Jester asked in hushed though excitable tones. “Are they in there? Are we going to get to kill some bad people yet?”

Nila came out of her mouse form, looking shaken as Beau muttered to Keg. “That was so cool. She didn’t die as a mouse! Awesome!” Fjord only shook his head. It was Yasha who put a gentle hand on Nila’s arm.

“Are you alright?” she asked. Nila only shuddered.

“Did you learn anything?” Caleb pressed, heedless.

Nila sighed heavily, leaning a bit into Yasha’s grip. “I did. It’s terrible. I don’t know if I saw my son. I know where they are keeping people. I know where they are keeping their prisoners. There is a trap door. You can get through it, through a mess hall and through another room and a hallway. There are two Iron Shepherds eating in the mess hall. There are, I think, many under the trap door.”

“Are there many?” Fjord asked. “Ophelia said that most of the members were gone.”

“Well, I saw beds. I saw six beds, plus a big bed. The big bed belongs to the leader.”

Keg threw Nila a curious look. “What do you mean you don’t know if you saw your son?”

“Is he okay?” Jester’s voice was more subdued than normal and it tugged at Caleb’s heartstrings just a bit.

“He was eating something. I don’t think it was him, but it looked like he was eating–“ Nila cut off abruptly, shuddering once more.

Once again, Caleb pressed. “One of these in the mess hall?”

“No, just the leader that was eating something that didn’t look like an animal. It looked…small.”

Keg cursed and everyone looked like they were ready to be sick, especially Jester, whose lower lip was beginning to wobble, though her hands were curled into tight fists, skin pressing almost white against her knuckles.

“Like my son’s size.” The addendum was only the barest scrap of a whisper, deafened by the stillness of the cursed forest around them. Silence held for a few moments before Molly put out a comforting hand on Nila’s.

“How many people?” he asked. “You said two?”

“There were six or seven beds, and I heard voices under the trap door. I know they’re there.” There was an edge to Nila’s tone, something sharp and deadly. “My son is not dead. He is there underneath the trap door.”

As quietly as possible, Caleb shuffled through the contents of his coat pocket, pulling out a sheaf of paper and a crude pencil that he used for things other than his spells. “Can you draw these rooms?”

“Yes,” Nila took the paper and pencil from him, eyes and jaw set, resolute. “I will do my best.”

They backed a ways away, barely managing to remain hidden as Yasha kept Keg from crashing loudly into a heap as she tripped over a stone, and set up a temporary camp in a clearing, far, far away from the strange bearlike creature they saw briefly through the trees. Nott disappeared once, only to return with news that she’d spied the Iron Shepherds returning to the Sour Nest. All of them, together. Keg gave everyone who didn’t already know the rundown on the members. She, Molly and Beau had taken out one of them the last time, and, based on Nott’s information, they hadn’t added to their group since then, or lost anyone else in the interim. It was easy, after that, to agree to strike that very night. Various sounds filtered through the woods as they waited for cover of darkness, but for the most part, even with the various creatures and wildlife, the Savalier Wood was a little too quiet for comfort.

Dusk encroached and then, quickly, darkness fell. They made their way back in the treeline before the wall again, readying their plan. A plan to take out the guards they’d spied and timed, a plan to turn Frumpkin from an owl into a spider, a plan to _burn the fuckers in their beds_. When Caleb said that, he received quite a few looks, but the others said nothing. If these people were eating babies, well, even Caleb could tell that they deserved to burn, and the sentiment had just sort of edged its way out without his brain’s permission. The particulars didn’t matter; in that moment, he only wanted to be in, take care of business, and be done. Things were growing too complicated, too messy. There were too many feelings getting in the way and feelings led to dangerous places.

Caleb grasped Yasha’s arm to steady himself and sent Frumpkin up to get a good glimpse, dodging a few arrows from Phil the Guard as he did. He could see that, even at 10:33 in the evening, there were flickers of light from the common areas that Nila had described. They were awake, but completely unsuspecting. The group waited an hour, getting into position, letting the Iron Shepherds settle back into their routines, and perfecting their plan. It had been forever since Caleb had time to actually prepare before shit went sideways. Usually, he and Nott had to come up with things on the fly, so he took the time to cast Mage Armor on himself and turned Frumpkin into a spider as they’d discussed. As he did, he mentally conversed with Frumpkin, conveying the plan as best as he could to his fey friend.

Just as he completed the spell, lowering his arm for Frumpkin to scurry up to his shoulder, Molly rounded the corner. He was crouched low, like Caleb and the rest, but he came directly over to Caleb and looked at him hard.

“Is everything ready on your end?” he asked when Molly said nothing.

“Yes. You?”

“We are good here.”

Molly kept staring at him intensely, and Caleb was about to question him, when suddenly, Molly lifted a hand, brushing a stray leaf from Caleb’s hair. There was a curious look on his face, like there was something he wanted but wasn’t saying.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you, Caleb?” Molly was trembling almost, though whether from pre-battle adrenalin or something else, Caleb didn’t know.

“Ja, Mollymauk. I will be careful.”

Molly’s shaking hand pulled away suddenly, and Caleb realized he’d almost entirely forgotten that it had still been there, hovering just to the side of his cheek. Nodding firmly at Caleb, Molly crept away, back to his group to prepare for their first assault on the stronghold.

The guard changed at midnight, and before he had a chance to even his breathing, they struck. The guard went down easily, a few javelins there and a punch and kick from Beau. Caleb was only one spell down by the time they clambered up and over the wall without issue thanks to Nila’s spell—even Keg, loud as she was in her full armor. They all met up at the front gate, and Caleb began Detect Magic to check for traps. There was a little movements inside, but as far as any magical traps went, the coast was clear—until, for no discernable reason a door opened and a guard peeked out. Heart pounding, Caleb held his breath until the man closed it again, seemingly satisfied and none the wiser.

In the end, they decided to enter through the back by the kitchen on Keg’s suggestion. The element of surprise seemed to be her rationale. Fjord transformed himself to look like one of the guards and Beau and Jester had each pulled on the cloaks of the downed two, in hopes of keeping up appearances for a little while longer. Jester, Beau, Fjord , Yasha, and Molly all went to the opposite side of the open yard to keep watch, leaving Caleb with Nott, Keg and Nila. Finally ready, Caleb sent Frumpkin scurrying off to scout out the way ahead of them, his spindly body moving with dexterous ease into the hall and up the walls towards the kitchen, through the gap above a door and into a dining area. Phil the guard was there, drinking, along with, presumably, the friend who had shot at Frumpkin for sport.

He kept going, hoping to find the trapdoor Nila had described. Unable to get underneath the trapdoor, Caleb sent Frumpkin back around towards the stairs. The fey spider narrowly avoided being squashed by Phil’s friend and Caleb quickly snapped him back into the pocket dimension. He conveyed all he had seen to the others before placing the spider on Nott’s shoulder.

Sighing, Caleb made a decision. “Frumpkin will be my eyes and I will whisper to you with our copper wires where to go, my sneaky little friend. Are you good with this?” he asked Nott, who nodded before taking a large swig from her flask.

“Ready.”

“Nott?” The small Goblin girl turned to Keg in surprise. “Be careful.”

“You care about me?” she asked, eyes soulful.

“Yeah.”

That was the extent of the conversation. Nott was already at the door and, by some miracle, managed the lock on the door and she slipped inside silently. Caleb put his hand on Keg’s shoulder. Whispering low into this little copper wire, Caleb led Nott around the halls as well as he could through Frumpkin’s strange spider-like vision.

“If Frumpkin tickles your ear, go right. Nothing for left.”

“Got it,” he heard before their communication went completely non-verbal. For a while, it seemed like it was going to work—and then there was a clatter of pots and pans as Nott sent them crashing and the guards came running.

Caleb blinked back to his body, signaling the rest, and the battle was begun. Quickly, fumbling with his spell components, he caste Haste on Keg, sending her off running with an agility which seemed strange on her, stout and muscular as she was. Caleb started forward after her. His heart pounded with each clap of his feet against the ground, mind running a million miles an hour as he wondered where the others were, what they were doing, who had all heard the clatter, if Nott was alright…

There was a shout of “We’ve got company!” and Caleb chilled. It would be all over before it began. Nila was running in after him, passing him up with little issue as Nott scrambled away out of Caleb’s line of sight while Keg began bashing away. Behind him, Caleb felt a woosh of air and a light noise at his ear. From the corner of his eye, a rush of blue fabric was already turning the corner and he breathed a light sigh of relief. Beau was already inside, probably just itching to hit something that, for once, wasn’t his shoulder.

There were other noises from places that Caleb couldn’t see, people that sounded familiar: Jester’s nearly terrifying pitched cackle of glee, Fjord’s commanding tones and a great grunt of effort that he instinctually aligned with Yasha. There was a hissing a blades swiping through flesh and the wall adjacent lit up with a golden glow. Mollymauk’s blades.

Perhaps it wasn’t such a disaster after all. Caleb wound up a Firebolt with his finger and blasted away at Phil the Guard, who yelped, patting away at his more-than-singed armor. A small thrill of satisfaction wound its way up Caleb’s back and he shivered from it for a moment, eyes gleaming before he backed up another ten feet out of range and sight. There was yelling, and the sound of weapons impacting bodies, and Caleb let his mind create the images rather than attempting to see them himself. Suddenly, without warning, there was a loud thunk and someone was laughing: it sounded pained and it just kept going and Caleb smiled to himself, knowing the Nott had worked a small but significant bit of magic. He ran forward, preparing another Firebolt, and found the kitchen an absolute wreck, chaos personified. He snuck off the shot towards the downed woman, nearly Yasha’s size, no longer laughing as both Beau and Keg circled around her. It didn’t hit, but somehow, Caleb didn’t think it needed to and he left her.

Nila was already moving on through a different hall towards the trap door, leaving the heavy hitters to take care of the barbarian woman. Caleb was the only other one left in the kitchen. He moved on, around the corner and down the hall to where his other friends had gone. One of the doors on the way was absolutely shattered, and he rounded the next turn to find the rest of the party all smushed into a dead-end hall, the towering Nila hunkered over as Nott and Beau bickered over a locked door. A sound behind him made him turn and there, catching up, huffing, bloody and out of breath were Yasha and Keg.

“Got ‘er,” the burly dwarf bit out between deep breaths. “One down.”

There was a satisfying click and an exasperated “finally” and the group shuffled about to make way for the door to swing open.

“Wait before going inside!” Fjord warned urgently, putting out an arm to bar an overeager Jester, clutching at her giant, glowing, spectral lolly. “Nott, check for traps first.”

Caleb took the chance to breathe and took in the sight of his other party members. Most seemed untouched. They’d overpowered the three in the kitchen more easily than they could have hoped, and that was some miracle to be certain. Fjord, Jester, and Nila seemed all relatively unharmed, and Nott didn’t seem too much the worse for wear. Molly was bleeding, but that was about par for the course as far as his abilities went.

So far, so good. All were intact and there were only three real concerns left, hired hands aside. A rogue, a bard, and Lorenzo. Caleb shifted, uncomfortable once more. Those were three serious problems, and he was far more ready to err on the side of caution than overconfidence. He snapped Frumpkin to him, who, in spider form, landed on his shoulder easily.

“Got it!” Not called. “See? Just easy as that!”

Caleb pushed his way forward. “I will send Frumpkin in. Let me check first, to see what we can see.”

Blinking into Frumpkin’s senses, Caleb couldn’t see much of anything, and for that, at least, he was grateful, because the sounds of whimpering and pained sighs and hitching, shortened breath were nearly enough to overwhelm him. He was sure, somehow, that were he able to see, not only would there be the mangled bodies of the living, but also the smoky, incorporeal forms of the many, many people who had died in the dungeons below, beaten, broken and tortured. Hatred flowed through him as he suddenly thought of Nott in such a place, or the lively Jester, or, Archeart forbid it, Mollymauk.

Eventually the spider’s eyes adjusted to the dim torchlight and Caleb could see all the implements of torture, disgustingly rusted and some caked with blood, racks and manacles handing on the walls beside them. He sent Frumpkin a little further forwards along the ceiling until he saw a barred gate with a guard resting up against it. There was a cage in the corner, with two shadowy humanoid figures locked inside. Frumpkin turned the corner, passing down the next hallway—and there he saw the other two of Lorenzo’s underlings, the way Nott had described them. Ruzza and Protto, watching the entryway, wary and alert.

“Scheiße,” he swore under his breath as Protto, the halfling, moved a hand towards his bow, eyes darting towards Frumpkin. Caleb snapped his fingers, sending Frumpkin away from danger and blinking back to his own body simultaneously. “We’ve got the other two down there, plus at least one guard at a gate and multiple captives. No Lorenzo, though, not that I could tell. He could very well be upstairs.”

“Well, we’re at a funnel point, bottleneck, whatever you want to call it,” Fjord reasoned. “We can stay here, guard this spot, and they have to come up to us for now while we check the rest out? Maybe you could send Frumpkin upstairs?” the Half-Orc suggested pointedly.

“Yeah, and Fjord, don’t forget that you look like a guard! You could always go downstairs and talk to the other asshole guarding the gate, right?” Jester raised her brows a few times in quick succession, a devious smile crossing her face. “Obviously someone kicked butt up here, but they probably actually can’t know it’s us, right? So if you go down looking like Mr. Shoots-at-Owls over there…” One pearly canine tugged at Jester’s lower lip. “Then we can surprise him and _bam_!” Jester smacked on fist against her open palm for emphasis.  

In that moment, Caleb saw the same bloodlust in Jester as he had in himself, and for a while he didn’t feel so bad about his glee at watching his flames devour the slavers and their servants.

“Here.” Molly swiped a hand across the cuts on the back of his neck, walked into Fjord’s space and smeared him across the face with his own blood. “Now you look like you got into a proper fight.”

Fjord let his jaw go slack in disgust and glared at Molly. “Thanks a lot, Molly.”

“Anytime, dear.”

As Fjord readied himself to go below, Beau gearing up behind him, Caleb grabbed for Keg’s shoulder, as she was nearest his grasp, snapping Frumpkin around the corner and sending him to scuttle off for the stairs as he blinked into the familiar’s sight. It took a bit to get to the steps, but Frumpkin was large enough in his spider form to get there fairly speedily. Up, up, up the stairs he went until Caleb was forced to rely upon everything that Nila had relayed and the map she had drawn for him, but that was as far as he was able to go before losing his sight.

Caleb blinked back, looking to Keg who was the only one left above with him. “I need to get closer to the stairs,” he stated, “so that I can continue to see what is happening up there.”

“I’ll go with you,” she nodded and together they moved back down the hall, and went around the loop to the foot of the steps. Just before blinking away once more, hand on Keg’s shoulder, Caleb spelled her again with Haste, just in case. He put one hand on the wall, keeping his over on Keg, and felt the way up the stairs. Frumpkin was on the move, headed the right, and Caleb felt the strange nature of moving in two places simultaneously. Keg, it seemed, misunderstood her job as his hand fell from her and she raced up past him. From Frumpkin’s senses, he could hear her clinking and clanging her way up the steps. He sighed, heavily, speaking into nothingness, not even able to hear himself.

“And this is where it all falls apart.”

The sound stopped, and there was a long pause of silence as Caleb slowly made his way up to the landing. He’d blinked out when it was clear that he wouldn’t have any assistance and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her around to the left and out of sight before sending himself back into Frumpkin who was still making his slow way around down the other hall. At the end, he turned the corner and saw nothing but a closed door, and so sent him beneath into a communal bedroom, two beds occupied by recently roused guards, scrambling into armor and pulling out weapons.

He snapped himself back, and whispered to Keg. “Just, follow me, please.” He sent Frumpkin around the other side to check the corner as he pulled Keg around. Frumpkin crawled beneath the newest door, finding yet another shared bedchamber. From the opposite hall, there was the creaking of a door and they could hear the rushing steps of the two hirelings headed down the steps. Without pause, Caleb pulled out his wire, aiming before for Nott. “Two are headed your way, possibly. Please, be alert.”

He heard a disembodied, high-pitched _I got it!_ But that was all. It would have to do. He sent Frumpkin into the final room, what appeared to be Lorenzo’s room. It was disgusting, smelling putrid, the small remains that Nila had told them of laying on a table by the bedside, but it was empty.

“I wish I could be invisible right now.”

“Yeah, me too,” Keg said.

“Let’s go below then. There’s nothing for us here.”

“O-kay…” Keg started down, and Caleb snapped Frumpkin onto Keg’s shoulder before heading down a good distance behind her. “What the fuck!” Cringing, he shushed her and she repeated her curse more quietly.  She lifted the plates of her armor and began to tiptoe her way back down, failing miserably to be quite. As they made it to the ground floor, Keg turning the corner just out of sight, Caleb heard footsteps and then a strangled yelp followed by a thud.

“Shut up,” he heard Keg say and then there was another thud and the whimpering ceased. Caleb descended the stars in full to see the stout dwarf holding her war hammer out over what once may have been a body.

“Goodness, this is going wonderful,” he said, surprising Keg, who nearly jumped out of her armour. Fjord was standing opposite them, along with Nott. A blur darted past Fjord’s head and down the hall to the room with the trapdoor.

“The Hell?” he muttered, and turned to follow it, the rest in suit.

“Where is Nila?” he asked Jester as they reached the bottom.

“Oh, she found her family! It was really cool, she like pulled open the bars with her mighty strength and just tore them apart to get to her baby and her mate! They are waiting in the clearing where we spent today. They weren’t…” She trailed away, and Caleb got the gist. “But Nila is with them now and they’re going to be alright because she’s going to protect them and we’re going to kill these nasty motherfuckers.”

Just then, Caleb saw Beau’s head snap around as something breezed past into the next room. Caleb kept himself tight to the wall, only just peeking around the corner enough to get a glimpse of the proceedings. Nott was hopping about, yelping in the same manner as the one time they’d accidentally disturbed a hornet’s nest. He grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her backward towards him. “On the other side of that hall, there are two waiting for us. Someone will need to go down the hall to look.”

Nott and Beau started forward together, low to the ground and pressed against the walls, moving slowly. Fjord went behind them, but his armor scraped against the wall, making the others cringe. Molly and Jester moved about the room, looking for anything useful, while Yasha pulled the body of a guard into a shadowy corner with ease. Keg, it appeared, wasn’t sure what to do, making harsh noise with each movement.

Making a choice that he wasn’t entirely sure was wise, Caleb began towards the hall after Nott, Beau, and Fjord, who had come to a halt just before entering the next room. Thanks to the reconnaissance he’d done earlier, he was able to anticipate each new sight as it came—including, as he carefully peered around Fjord, the sight of the last two Iron Shepherds under Lorenzo, weapons at the ready.

The buzzing hum of the dark shape that had sent them below earlier was also there, hovering before what appeared to be another cage. Now that it had stopped, Caleb could make out its form: strangely, it was a jet-black hummingbird that darted around the room, something long and metallic in its beak. It darted up into the shadow and disappeared from sight.

Ruzza looked over to Protto. “Are they coming, or not? I’m getting impatient.”

“Yeah, maybe we should poke one of ‘em.” Caleb turned away and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground around the corner from the door, out of the line of fire. He could hear chains moving a bit, a muffled curse. There was a muffled yell as Protto’s sword pressed into the inhabitant.

_You are going to die, you’re going to die, what are you doing, Göttern!_

Suddenly Keg came barreling down the hallway, just missing Caleb. She slammed into Fjord, Beau, and Nott who were all peeking out from behind the wall at different heights.

“Shit! They’re here! Back up!”

Quick as a whistle, Nott’s crossbow let off a shot. There was a myriad of jumbled, concurrent noises, a few shouts and the creaking of a metal door. Caleb closed his eyes, trying to even out his breathing. He heard Nott’s crossbow go off another two times amidst the sounds, culminating in a groan of pain.

Feeling helpless, Caleb snapped Frumpkin into the room, sending him scurrying up the walls and over to the cages. There was a new person emerging from the cage, of dark skin and a shockingly white afro and goatee, eyes clouded over a milky pearlescent white. The midnight hummingbird was resting on his shoulder.

He sent Frumpkin to the other cage. Inside were a small human child and an older male dwarf, frightened, though not too much the worse for wear. From where he sat against the wall, he pulled out his copper wire and messaged to them.

“Hello. You cannot see me right now. Stay as low as possible, and this will all blow over quickly, I think.” As soon as that was through, Caleb sent Frumpkin up onto the ceiling again to get the best view possible.

Just then, two portcullises slammed down, closing off the room, barring the group from entering the room. Through Frumpkin’s eyes, Caleb saw Protto appear beyond the other gate, firing his longbow at Nott before turning back around the corner of the hall and out of sight. The arrow sliced into Nott’s arm as she dodged out of the way just in time.

“Hey! Who’re you?” Beau called through the portcullis to the person who had escaped his cage.

“I’m Shakäste, darling. And you all are?”

“We’re uh…” Beau stumbled for a moment, spluttering. “Well, I’m Beau and uh, we’re people here to kick some ass, save some people and kill a guy. Or you know, a lot of guys.”

“Very nice.”

Caleb blinked back to himself. On one side of him, Beau stuck her staff under the bars of the gate and, together with Keg, began to press down, wrenching it up as far as they were able. “Where’s Yasha…when you…need her?” Beau grunted from the effort. “Or Jester, gods!”

Just then, the aforementioned ladies rounded the corner, Yasha with her greatsword out and at the ready. Molly wasn’t far behind them. While the other two went to assist Beau and Keg, Molly stopped in front of Caleb, squatting down a bit as he put out a hand.

“Doing alright, Caleb?” he asked earnestly. For a someone without pupils, Molly’s eyes were certainly expressive. Within his breast, Caleb’s heart jumped as their hands connected. Strong but gentle, Molly’s fingers wrapped securely around his hand and wrist, tensing and together they pulled him up to standing. In the narrow passage, Caleb could feel Molly’s hot breath coming in the short fast pants of telltale exertion against his cheek. They were soft and fluttering, like the delicate wing of a butterfly. Cheeks flushing with sudden heat, Caleb felt faint, the sounds of battle fading into the background.

“Yes,” he breathed, chest heaving, scant inches from Molly’s. “I am well, Mollymauk.”

“Good.” Molly nodded at him as if attempting to confirm his state of mind, and then let go, his hand sliding gently from Caleb’s. His fingers lingered over his pulse before they slipped away, and then Molly was gone, off towards to door to assist if he was able.

Caleb blinked himself back to Frumpkin, the only option he felt he had. The large glowing bust of some magnificent woman barreled its way down the hall at Ruzza, who ducked and dodged, avoiding each attack that the mysterious former captive sent her way. Nott got off a couple shots, hitting the bard, pissing her off in addition to dealing damage. He focused his Frumpkin vision on the former captive, dug out his copper wire and spoke.

“Hello, I am in the other hall and not in the room with you, but if you have the chance, when my allies have lifted that gate, perhaps you could move the table underneath and help to keep it up so that we may join you in there?”

In his ear, he heard the response without hesitation. _Sure thing, baby._

Protto shot his longbow again, an arrow flying past Beau, the second nearly hitting her, her arm flying up in time to catch it. Yasha, Jester and Keg strained as Beau’s staff dropped out from under the gate as they were lifting. Caleb ducked back into the hall just as the three strong ladies finally pushed the gate up, and Shakäste shoved the table underneath as Caleb had directed. They all rushed in, Keg first, weapons out already, cigarette still dangling in her mouth.

“So what’s your name?” Shakäste asked calmly.

“Keg, as in explosions or booze or powder. And you’re Shakäste?”

“That’s right. We’ll get a keg later, Keg.”

Caleb rolled his eyes in exasperation at the small talk in the middle of battle, but somehow he wasn’t surprised.

“Oh, get a room you two!” Nott shouted.

Fjord made his way under the portcullis too, letting his disguise drop in favor of pulling his dripping, surreal falchion from thin air shooting off Hexblade’s Curse at Protto, who was just visible around the corner. The curse hit, swirling dark energy surrounding Protto as Fjord put out his hand, invoking an agonizing blast in a swirl of purplish, pulsating energy. He stepped back from the opening to avoid any retaliation, smiling, eyes narrowed.

“Let me at ‘em!” Jester shouted, shimmying beneath the gate, just as a deep, chilling voice filled the chamber, disembodied but still striking Caleb with fear.

“Hmmmm. It’s rare that the meat carries itself right to your table.”

Jester ran up to the gate, fuming, just as Shakäste’s bird darted through it and around the corner. One by one the rest filed in, Molly rolling under with a flourish, blades brandished as he landed on one knee within the room. One-handed, Yasha pressed up on the gate to let Caleb under before following herself, letting go of the portcullis as soon as she was clear. It dropped with a loud crash, shattering the table completely.

At the other end, the bust of the beautiful woman slammed against the lever that controlled the gates to no avail. Nott reached out with her mage hand, tripping the switch easily, and the gates slid back up. She slid inwards, inching along the hall. Caleb breathed heavily as he watched her. Nervous, he shot Frumpkin over by Nott, readying himself. He heard a door, and from his peripherals he saw Jester begin to move towards him, but Beau stopped them all.

“Wait, wait, wait. This shit doesn’t feel right.”

“I know what you mean. We’re walking into a trap,” Molly agreed.

“We’re being lured in,” Fjord circled, falchion dripping water on the ground as he did.

“Wait, what’s the plan?” Keg asked.

Beau turned. “There isn’t a plan!”

Caleb sighed, sending Frumpkin forward as Beau and Jester both walked up to join him, Fjord moving down past them to the corner, poking his head around. Grasping Nott’s shoulder, Caleb blinked, and through Frumpkin he could see the next room. There was another cage in the corner and another captive. One doorway was just shutting, a hired guard pushing it closed behind Protto and Ruzza. Frumpkin pushed forward towards the door as Caleb felt Nott slip out from beneath his hand, grabbing it and pressing it to the wall as she presumably walked away. A larger hand landed on his shoulder, steadying him, giving a gentle squeeze, but Caleb could not be certain who it was.

From Frumpkin’s vantage point, Caleb could see Nott coming down the hall, pausing to disarm a trap with her mage hand, moving a whole tile of the floor in the process. He kept Frumpkin moving, past the doorframe, and caught a glimpse of the two Shepherds and their hired hand lifting another trap door by a blazing brazier, disappearing below.

Then Protto turned, catching a glimpse of Frumpkin. Before Caleb had time to pull him back, an arrow shot straight at him, and Caleb found himself bounced back into his own body, shaking with fury.

Yasha was behind him. She came forward, pulling his hands into hers, watching him carefully.

“They. Are. Going. To. Die,” he bit out. The rest of the group had moved forward with Nott, and Caleb allowed Yasha to lead him ahead as well, to where the they were messing with the cage, trying to free the new prisoner.

“Please check this door for traps, Nott,” Caleb asked.

“Not trapped, but locked,” Nott sighed unhappily. Keg came forward, battle axe swinging, and smashed into the wooden planks, splintering the door but failing to bring it down. Jester and Shakäste were busy with the prisoner, freeing and healing him, sending him on his way.

Around them, the same deep voice resonated, and Caleb saw Molly and Keg both shudder. “What are you planning to accomplish? You’ve killed a few bottom-barrel goons, but you’re in my domain now. I’d first planned to make you into premium contraband when finished; however, I may just keep you all as my own, personal pets.”

Getting more pissed than frightened, and feeling a little more confident for it, Caleb made a rude gesture into the ether at the voice he was sure belonged to the one who had killed Mollymauk. “Let’s get this goddamned door open, please!”

“Eat shit, fucko!” Keg cried, slamming down on the door again, completely bringing it down off its hinges.

The room was exactly as Caleb had last seen it before Frumpkin disappeared. Nott slunk forward, ready to check for traps again. Caleb followed her, focusing all his mental prowess on the brazier. Just as Caleb recognized the spell, Beau stepped forward into its range and triggered it.

Gouts of flame burst in her direction, then dissipated as Beau tugged on the trapdoor. Yasha moved forward to assist her and together they pulled the door open, breaking off the latches completely. The flames pushed forward over them once more just as Keg slipped beneath into the cellar, singed. Beau caught the brunt of the flames as she followed swiftly.

“Uh…Caleb?” Nott asked.

“Well,” he hemmed and hawed, trying to come up with something, but Jester pushed him aside.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” She stuck out her hand, as well as her tongue, biting down a bit in concentration and dispelled the enchantment, the brazier going dark. She smiled and wiggled back and forth gleefully. “See?”

Caleb went below, trusting that the others would follow.

At the bottom of the steps, Beau was lamenting the burn on her arm, and Keg slipped her a potion with a suggestive little jut of her chin.

Caleb moved to Shakäste’s side. “Excuse me, Mr. Shakäste, but can you do us a favour with your lovely bird there?”

“This is the Grand Duchess Anastasia,” he preened, petting at her with two fingers.

“I, um, I used to have a cat. Not anymore. Uh, would you do us the favour of having a look around with your bird friend?”

“That sounds like a lovely idea. Grand Duchess, if you wouldn’t mind?”

They made their way down the stairs into a low, red-lit chamber, following the Duchess as she zipped about, Jester healing a few folks as they went. They waited, Caleb with baited breath. The Duchess fluttered back to her master, sitting on his shoulder. “They’re hiding. Waiting,” the other cleric murmured under his breath. “We can go down only one at a time.”

“Well, I can send down an illusion of, of….Keg!” Nott said excitedly. “They’ll think it’s you and attack you, but it won’t be you!”

“But she will not make noise?” Caleb asked.

“She can stay here and make the noise, but what happens when they come out an attack?”

“We want them to come out.” Fjord said. “That way, even though we know they’re coming, we can get the jump on them.”

“So, what, I go down and taunt them. ‘Where you at, fuckface?”

“Well, before you used ‘fucko’ and that was quite good,” Yasha said, nodding thoughtfully. They bantered a bit more, deciding on ‘hey fucking chrome dome’.

Caleb was growing frustrated; the longer they waited, the more anxious he became. Eventually, Keg shouted her line and began clanging as Nott cast her Silent Image. Jester smiled widely, putting out her hands in sudden movement of a spell, amplifying the noise to give it believability.

Two swift wooshes of bolts flew through the air towards the image, which Nott manipulated, Jester continuing with her Thaumaturgical mysticism to give realism to Keg’s pretend cries and groans. Another three bolts shot through the air.

“Uh…what do we do now?” Nott looked around.

“There’s obviously someone watching,” Fjord said. “The image couldn’t trip any traps.” Before he could suggest anything further, Molly and Beau looked at each other, who looked to Nott and Jester and all four began to yell wildly, flailing, barreling down the stairs one after the other. Beau vaulted, landing in a roll, tucked up against the wall, Molly mirroring her on the other side. Jester crouched at the bottom on the stairway, partially hidden by the railing, Nott beside her. Caleb slunk down, keeping a distance back and waiting until Yasha and Keg had made their way down. The other cleric settled behind him, but sent his bird ahead to perch upon Keg’s shoulder.

Caleb peeked up over the balustrade. The chamber opened up before him, the red glow emanating from two furnaces. An unnatural heat congealed the air grotesquely,  scented of coal and burnt flesh. Metal brands hung on the walls. Further in was a table flanked by empty chairs, covered in draped leather with heavy chains hanging from either side. Larger containment chambers were locked and barred in the farthest reaches of the main space.

Fjord moved past them as Caleb looked around, moving off behind the wall where the chamber opened up further to the left, near Nott and Jester.

A bolt whistled out from beneath the table, hitting Nott in the leg as she tried to dodge, and Caleb could hear a voice from the direction Fjord had gone shout out an expletive. He steeled himself as he heard something slam against the ground and once more the sound of a arrow firing. Nott darted away from Caleb’s sight and the nervous energy bubbled within him once again. Beau followed, and the sounds of battle once again hit Caleb’s ears.

 _This is still going very well. I have not been hit. Here we go!_ he thought in his head and booked it, faster than he’d moved in a very long while. The scene unfolded before him, Beau beating on a hired goon, Nott with her crossbow directly above Protto, gleaming grin triumphantly painted across her features. As he passed her, he put out a hand on her shoulder, gently, as he made his way quickly to a darker corner. Crouching low, Caleb began to mutter to himself, his own voice distracting him from the groaning and shouts and sounds of fists hitting flesh. “This is okay. This is okay. This is okay.”

From his spot against the far wall, he saw Keg come running out, battle axe swinging towards Protto, screaming “Hey little shit!” The table splinted at the contact with the axe, but the war hammer came down on him once, then missed the second time, punching a hole through the table.

A thundering, ominous voice once more rang out around them. “Do not kill them. They’ve not earned the mercy I gifted their kaleidoscopic friend once before. Let them bleed and bring them in chains. Oh, the horrors you’ll see.”

Caleb didn’t see or hear what happened, but suddenly, Beau was clutching at her back, shouting in pain. The jagged glaive that had issued Molly’s death, the weapon of Caleb’s worst imaginings, came swinging down at her a second time. There, behind her, was the being that he could only assume was Lorenzo, or his essence at least, hovering in the air. He was large, wearing studded leather-strapped armor and weathered leather bracers, his bulging, muscular form a bluish colour, not nearly so nice as Jesters. His eyes burned red. Emerging from his tattooed head were two horns. A central plume of dark black hair flew back from the top of his head and a dark beard curled from his chin down his chest a short ways. Formidable. Lorenzo chuckled, low and deep. This was nothing like what had been described to them in passing on the long road there.

Hate sparked within Caleb suddenly at the sight of him, at the disgusting, offensive taunt, like there was something _wrong_ with Molly’s bright colours, and he wanted nothing more than to burn the fucker inside out.

Ruzza dashed out from where she and Fjord had been standing out of sight, looking frightened by whatever the warlock had done. At the same time, Beau’s thug ran from her, but she caught him with a quick punch, dropping him to the ground instantly.

Behind them, Molly’s bright form flashed out, one purple hand grasping the air in a choking motion, blood spurting from his neck at the movement. “You’re going to be a problem, darling,” he sneered at Ruzza and she clawed at her eyes. Caleb was reminded instantly of the second day he’d known Molly, of how the attacker on the road has suddenly gone blind. The Tiefling grinned toothily as she screamed in rage and frustration. He pulled his other sword as she did, but Shakäste’s spiritual weapon manifested in the form of the beautiful woman, swiping down at the bard in front of Molly and missing. The older man moved back and around her to the other side. Blindly, still flailing from Molly’s curse, she swung at him, but missed.

Lights and sounds of the battle flashed before Caleb. A blast of radiant energy that flew wide of its mark. The sound of a bow clattering to the ground and swords being drawn, as Protto moved, engaging with Keg. The green flash of Nott firing her crossbow twice at the halfling as she darted towards where Molly and Shakäste were dealing with Ruzza. One hitting him in the abdomen as he called out to Lorenzo in fear. Beau parkoured her way across the room to Protto just in time, as Lorenzo swung at her again, and punched at Protto, fists flying like the wind until he fell.

In a brief moment, Caleb caught sight of Yasha, holding the limp body of another hireling in one strong hand, and her small but satisfied smile as she watched the monk drop one of their opponents. Jester flew out behind her as a third thug ran up behind the barbarian woman, spiraling lolly held aloft, bashing him on the head before sending a bright ray of light slamming into him.

“Okay, this is still going very good.” Caleb slid along the wall he was on until he reached where Beau had dropped her first guard. Standing, he began to weave his hand around his arm in an arcane motion, and released Scorching Ray at Lorenzo. Three bolts of bright flame erupted from the sparks in his hand, all his pent up hatred spewing forth at the floating being. All three hit Lorenzo, leaving smoldering black patches along his flesh.

He seemed to shrug it off, turning his attention to Caleb. Hidden in the shadows no longer. “Glad,” Lorenzo sneered, “that you could join us.”

“Wie geht’s?” Caleb threw back venomously. He felt a thrill go through him again, like life injected hot and molten into his veins. It felt good, the fire. For Molly. This was for Molly.

Keg leapt at Lorenzo, just within Caleb’s peripheral vision, but she missed and landed hard on the table, which finally shattered. Yasha dropped her thug and took a few swings with her greatsword at Ruzza. Distracted, Caleb almost didn’t see it as Lorenzo coasted through the air towards him, arcing down, glaive upraised, laughing with dark intent.

Lorenzo swung, and the glaive caught Caleb across the stomach. It came down again, striking him hard into the wall with such force and pain that the cry the first strike elicited was swallowed by a gasp of shock. Blood poured out from the wounds and up from his mouth as he coughed, clutching his abdomen and sliding down to the floor.

The battle blurred around him. Things were happening, people moving, but Caleb caught very little of it through the pain. Someone spoke, somewhere, to someone else, a flash of arcane energy to the right, indistinct forms moving in front of him and to the opposite side, a cry that sounded vaguely like his name…

Eventually, Caleb managed to push himself to his feet, stumbling along the wall towards the stairs. His bloody handprint streaked across the stone walls towards Keg. “This is… going… very… well… very… well…” He pushed his way around the corner. He nodded deliriously at Fjord before turning, one hand bracing his weight on the wall, and firing off another bolt of flame at Lorenzo, catching the floating bastard on the chest.

Caleb turned the corner again, pressing his face up against the cool stone, shuddering off the pain, and just tried to breathe. Lorenzo’s thundering voice penetrated his delirium, but his brain couldn’t comprehend the words, too focused on the physical act of staying alive as he bled profusely.

“Göttern, bin ich frölich,” he slurred after a few moments. “Dass… Dass… wir… hab-have zwei Clerics… They will get to you, ja, lickety-split…you will…be…fine…” He dug his free hand in his pocket and pulled a potion out, stuffing the bottle in his mouth and chugging the bitter liquid. His head cleared a bit, but he was still hazy from the pain. Dropping to the ground, Caleb crawled, blinking away the smears of blood on his face, until he found the first step. Up one, then the other before he paused and turned, extending a finger. A bolt burst from the tip, sparking blazing tongues at the empty space where Lorenzo had been, but it passed through the empty air and burst against the stone. “We did it, you guys…” The phrase was uttered to no one, however, and Caleb slumped up against the balustrade, utterly wiped.

The battle raged on and then, suddenly, there was a blast that sounded like the howling cold down the chimney of his childhood home in the deep dark of a Blumenthaal winter. Two bodies thumped to the floor, but Caleb couldn’t move to tell who. Lorenzo spoke again and the now-familiar sound of Keg’s armor echoed in the chamber. Someone else moved passed him, the motion catching in his peripherals.

Finally, Beau’s voice resounded clearly.

“Fuck him up!” she hollered at the top of her lungs.

He pushed himself up and turned over, collapsing onto his ass and used one hand to level the other, firing off one more bolt and pushing himself up towards the stairs.

Caleb slipped on his own blood, stuttering back down the stone steps and falling in a heap on the floor. With extra force, he put his forearms against the floor, lifting his body weight as far as he was able, and mustered the energy to rise to his feet, wobbling. “This is going… very well,” he muttered, watching as a drop of blood fell from his lips and splattered on the floor. Tottering where he stood, Caleb finally looked out and up towards the battle. Several of his allies were on the ground, frosted over. Lorenzo had seized Keg’s weapons in his grip, and then her flung aside. She landed not far from Caleb. Lorenzo turned, his blazing red eyes finally catching sight of Caleb once more.  

“I suppose you’ll have to be the example this time,” Lorenzo jeered, and he launched the gleaming, wicked glaive towards Caleb where he was standing, barely holding himself up as blood leaked from his wounds. Lorenzo watched on as his weapon hurtled towards Caleb, smiling sickeningly.

Caleb couldn’t tear his eyes away from the doom hurtling towards him. The moment slowed almost to a standstill, thoughts rushing through his mind faster than the glaive was moving. Everything that had happened thus far was a disaster. He was going to die in the cellar of a slaver’s hideaway, and that was going to be that. After everything, he would never get the chance to undo his terrible deeds, he would never get recompense for his parents’ death, and he would never get to tell Molly that—

The last thought was driven from his mind as, from his hazy peripherals, Caleb caught a different sort of movement, heard someone shouting something that sounded vaguely like his name.

Molly was a purple blur, his swords clattering to the ground as he threw them aside, diving towards Caleb with his arms out, catching him by the shoulders. The whole force of his movement pushed Caleb backwards and out of the way.

The glaive hit Molly in the back this time, its tip piercing down and out through his stomach, just below the old scar. The gleaming steel that protruded from his gut was covered over in blood, dripping easily from its terrible edge, a deep, dark red, darker by far than even Molly’s eyes. He spluttered, red froth on his lips and a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.

There was a pain in Caleb’s chest far worse than the wounds, far worse than anything, save the night he’d murdered his parents. It was as though his heart was being ripped from his chest, crushed in front of him. Molly stood frozen between moments that felt eternities long, hitching breaths, each terrible gurgle bringing up more blood. Then, as quickly as it had happened, it was over. Softly, like a single leaf falling from a tree in the dead silent still of a mid-autumn day, Molly pitched forward, taking Caleb down with him.

They hit the ground, unmoving. Lorenzo laughed, a deep, terrifying thunder of noise. “Two examples for the price of one. Guess it was meant to be, little Tiefling,” he sneered before turning away, predatory, towards the others, satisfied with his work.

Groaning, Caleb’s eyes flickered open. Miraculously, the force of the push was enough that by the time Molly fell, Caleb was edged just far enough out of the way that he avoided the blade himself; instead of piercing his already mangled flesh, it simply pinned his coat to the floor. Lying atop him, Molly’s body was heavy. A deadweight. Caleb shuddered as the word crossed into his mind. His side and arm were growing warm from the pooling blood, some from his prior wounds and far, far more from Molly’s. Their blood mingled together, their clothing soaking it up greedily.

A few shuddering breaths surged through Molly, snapping Caleb from his stupor. With a little effort, he was just able to lift his head enough to watch as Lorenzo turned outwards towards the rest, towards his _friends_ , an icy shroud undoubtedly being prepared with deadly consequences.

With a single arcane word, Caleb lifted one shaking finger, trying to ignore the rattle of Molly’s chest on his. “You should not have killed my cat,” he said, voice low and deadly despite its shaking. A blast of sparking flame hurtled forth from his extended finger and into the back of Lorenzo’s head, impacting it spectacularly. Caleb’s head dropped back as it did, hitting the stone hard, causing his vision to black momentarily. He missed the moment when the back of Lorenzo’s skull exploded, fire bursting out his eye sockets as the magma force of the fire bolt ate through it, liquefying what little brain matter remained. It sluiced out of the ruined skull and Lorenzo dropped heavily to his knees, swayed, and then crumpled into a heap on the ground.

Caleb caught none of it. Resting heavily across him, unbelievably, impossibly, horribly, Molly had finally gone still.

Around him, Caleb could hear the telltale sounds of people moving, but he registered none of it as he floated away, utterly lost in the vast expanse of his thoughts.

No tears rolled down Caleb’s cheeks as reality set in. No sobs wracked his frame. He lay just as still as the corpse. Even the pain of his own wounds was lost to numbness. Molly was dead. Molly whom he had helped return to life. Molly who was life itself. Molly of the bright eyes, and wicked smiles, and biting retorts. Molly of the soft looks and gentle hands and tender touches. Molly whose laughter was more beautiful than music, whose heart, and arms, were always open.

No more.

Caleb stared at the ceiling. He didn’t know how long he lay there, breathing harsh and stunted from his wounds and the added weight. _You are lucky_ , he thought abstractly, _that Molly is not heavier, like Yasha, or you would be crushed to death right now._ At the thought, he made a sound that ought to have been a laugh, but it was strangled for lack of breath and suddenly, he was remembering the last, purposeful look that they had shared before entering the fortress, when Molly’s fine, arching brows drew in, wrinkling his nose, his lips pressed tight with concern.

_“You’ll be careful, won’t you, Caleb?”_

_“Ja, Mollymauk. I will be careful.”_

He had not asked the same of Molly in return.

Silently, heartbroken, Caleb wept.

It could have been minutes later, or hours. Caleb couldn’t tell. The first thing he considered, upon returning to conscious thought, was that he hadn’t even thought about the fire. The initial moments of Lorenzo’s demise were emblazoned onto his memory, though hazy, as he’d only seen the split second of first impact before his strength gave out and he fell back. Still, knowing what he’d done was usually enough. With Lorenzo, it seemed, it hadn’t mattered. He was the reason that Frumpkin was taken away, and then Molly too. Again. He deserved it. That made all the difference. His fire then, was useful in more ways than one. And, after all, what else was he good for if not fiery destruction?

Caleb’s second thought was that he was in a lot of pain. His third was to realize that there was still a heavy weight across his midsection. So, not hours then, unless he was the only one left alive and the voices he’d heard before floating away into the blissful empty of the abyss were his enemies, leaving him for dead.

They were not. Beau’s face crossed into his vision, eyes a deep blue with concern, her face hardened and stern, splattered over with blood and frost. “Caleb?” She turned away as he blinked blearily. “He’s alive!” she called over her shoulder, though there was no joy in her words. _Why should there be? After all_ , Caleb thought _, Molly is dead. And if Molly is dead, so is joy. She would be happy if it were Molly alive and I dead._

It was only then that Caleb remembered the source of the weight that was currently pinning him to the ground, and he made an anguished noise at the realization. Beau’s gaze was back on him, a grimace twisting her lips. “Fucking, shit. Molly…” With more gentleness than he’d ever witnessed from Beau, she put her strong hands on Molly’s shoulders, pulling him up and lifting him off of Caleb. Despite the relief, he still felt like he was unable to breathe. Slowly, other noises finally made their way through the cotton in his ears. Nott. He would recognize the sound of Nott’s voice anywhere. She was wailing, it seemed, though why, Caleb wasn’t sure, but he could hear the sound of Fjord trying to cajole her.

“—not dead, see? Beau says that he’s alive. So that’s at least one good thing out of this totally fucked-up shit-show of a mission. Go look.”

Abruptly, her shrieks—which he’d finally deciphered into something of a semblance of his name and the phrase “my beautiful boy”—cut off and he heard the padding of her little feet as she tentatively neared him, as if afraid that Beau and Fjord weren’t telling the truth.

Sure enough, he heard her speak very, very quietly as she approached. “I don’t believe you.”

Then her large yellow eyes moved into his field of vision. She blinked down at him, and he up at her, and she commenced crying again, but this time silently. “I thought you were dead!” she said softly between hiccoughs, her voice cutting in and out.

“I thought I was, too.” Caleb’s voice was a rasp in response.

Nott put one small hand on his face. “Oh, Caleb! You’re crying.”

Only when Nott pointed it out did Caleb recognize the feel of hot, sticky tear tracks down his cheeks. “Molly…” The name came out less as a word and more of a dry, desperate sob. Caleb was hoarse and sore and bleeding and tired. Everything was too much. Everything was always too much.

Simultaneously, he and Nott looked to the side. Beau was holding Molly’s body gently. From his spot on the ground, Caleb could see that his blood-red eyes were still open, staring vacantly. Beside her, Yasha crashed to her knees, distraught but silent. Her eyes were almost flaming with anger as she took in the ruined form of her friend, the glaive still sticking up through his chest.

“Jester, help me out here,” Beau commanded. It was obvious enough that she was not speaking of healing arts, but of the grotesque weapon that had caused so much damage and pain. With a single, sharp yank it came loose in the cleric’s hands. Jester was sniffling quietly as she cried, and she tossed it aside, allowing to clatter to the ground. Beau held Molly’s limp form forth and Yasha, trembling, took him from her.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter to Caleb that he was probably bleeding out. Molly’s head lolled against Yasha’s shoulder and she howled, a fierce terrible cry like a wounded animal in the night, calling for vengeance, for relief. It was a horrible sound, one that Caleb was sure he would add to his nightmares if he lived. If they decided that he was worth keeping alive. Just then, Caleb found, he didn’t much care either way.

As Yasha curled herself over Molly, cradling him close to her, he had to look away. It was a private moment, not meant for him. He was an intruder, nothing more. But Jester moved to Caleb’s side, putting a secure arm around the still-sniffling Nott and placing one glowing white hand to his chest. The searing heat of healing magic surged through him, but it did nothing for the hollow, aching place in Caleb’s heart, where he kept the memory of Molly’s fond smile in perpetuity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lorenzo targets Caleb, Molly runs in front of him, takes the hit and dies. This is the temporary death. It is resolved next chapter.


	7. 7.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter! Bittersweet, but hopefully more sweet than bitter. 
> 
> You've all been amazing and thank you so much for reading. Thanks again one final time to meridas for the beta. You helped make this possible. 
> 
> I will post the epilogue shortly because I have no patience and I just want everyone to be able to read through to the end. 
> 
> I may write a timestamp for this, somewhere in the future, beyond the epilogue, but I make no promises and there will NOT be a sequel. The next Widomauk fic I'm planning is a 50 First Dates au but, as I'm in the midst of planning a Halloween oneshot of Vampire the Masquerade, that will have to wait until November, when I plan to begin it. Be on the lookout. It's going to have some sappy romantic title for sure. Like Celine Dion sappy probably. This will be less comedy and more romance, lets be real. Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed, and stick around for the epilogue!

7.

Pale amber sunlight falls across

The reddening October trees,

That hardly sway before a breeze

As soft as summer: summer's loss

Seems little, dear! on days like these.

Let misty autumn be our part!

The twilight of the year is sweet:

Where shadow and the darkness meet

Our love, a twilight of the heart

Eludes a little time's deceit.

Are we not better and at home

In dreamful Autumn, we who deem

No harvest joy is worth a dream?

A little while and night shall come,

A little while, then, let us dream.

Beyond the pearled horizons lie

Winter and night: awaiting these

We garner this poor hour of ease,

Until love turn from us and die

Beneath the drear November trees.

_ ~ Ernest Dowson, Autumnal The Poems and Prose of Ernest Dowson _

 

“Kaun er barna bǫlvan; bǫl gørver nán fǫlvan.

Maðr er moldar auki; mikil er græip á hauki.”

“Disease is fatal to children; death makes a corpse pale.

Man is an augmentation of the dust; great is the claw of the hawk.”

_~ The Selection “Kaunan” or “Disease” from the Norwegian Runic Poem_

 

“Hey now, there may be less cause for tears than you think.” Shakäste broke the reverent silence. “My dear Dutchess and I can see that your friend’s not gone yet.”

It took a moment for the words to hit Caleb fully, for their meaning to sink into his brain, to process them completely. Even when they did, he felt less elation than he would have expected. Only a sinking feeling that came with the knowledge that he’d failed. Whatever it was he and Jester had done to return Molly to his body, it had obviously not been enough, if Shakäste meant what Caleb thought he did.

“Mollymauk. Nice to formally meet you. I’ll be sure to convey your sentiments,” the older cleric said with a growing smile. “He’s here, right now, watching you. Caleb, Molly tells me that if you hadn’t lost your familiar, you’d be able to see this, and that he’s very sorry about Frumpkin. He wants y’all to know that he’s touched by your response to his death, by the way, but there’s no call for tears.” He paused until it was clear that Molly’s words had come to an end. “Now ladies and gentlemen, your Mollymauk’s still new to his present state. The older a ghost gets, you know, the more self-hood fades away, and they start to forget themselves, so it would be in everyone’s best interest to get your friend resituated A-S-A-P.”

Jester wiped her face with her arm. “I did it last time, with a little help from Caleb over there! I could… I could do it again, I think, but I’m really not… I’m exhausted. Oh, Molly! I want to help you!” She looked around the room as if seeking Molly out, gaze resting anywhere but on his lifeless body.

“Maybe Shakäste can help you out, baby. I’ve still got a little go left in me right now before I’m going to need a long nap.”

The older cleric knelt down beside Yasha, placing one hand over Molly’s chest. “Well, maybe you can come help heal this up first,” he called over his shoulder. Jester obliged. While the rapidly darkening stain remained, the ragged edges of torn flesh fused together in a morbid reverse of their rending. As she drew away her hand, Jester sagged to the ground. Fjord caught her as she slumped.

“Thank you, Traveler,” she whispered, letting herself collapse against Fjord fully.

Caleb didn’t let his gaze leave Mollymauk as Shakäste finally began to chant, a diamond held in hand to focus. After a few moment, breath held, there was a rattling gasp and Molly’s eyes sparked to life as he blinked a few times, losing their glaze.

But Shakäste didn’t pull away. “Something’s wrong,” he said, loud enough for all to hear, even as Molly reached for Yasha, seeking comfort. “I know what living people are supposed to look like. I thought you looked off before, but I didn’t say anything, middle of the battle and all that, but whatever this is, it’s not right, and I sure don’t know how to fix it.”

“What do you mean?”

It took a moment for Caleb to recognize his own voice, raspy from pain and sobbing.

“I mean that his soul’s not sitting right in his body. The body’s alive, but his soul’s not situated in it. S’more like he’s possessing himself.”

Caleb felt his throat constrict. Molly had told him.  _ Told him! _ Molly had said that he didn’t feel right, that something was off, that something was very, very wrong with him. And the Shades!  _ You should have known. You should have seen this. All of the pieces were there and you were blind! Blind and distracted by his pretty face and kind eyes. And he has suffered now for weeks because of it. You are trash. You can do nothing right. You are unworthy to even  _ look _ at him much less think of him the way you have, nor even think the word lo— _

“Caleb?” It was Molly’s voice, breathless but full of life, music to the wizard’s ears. “Caleb, dear, what is it? Are you alright?” There was shifting and Caleb, against his better judgement, peered over to see that Molly, in order to better see Caleb, had situated more comfortably across Yasha’s lap, her arms still around him as if afraid to let go. “What’s wrong, dear?”

“I failed you, Molly. I tried to help you, but I failed.” His voice hollow, Caleb turned his head away, reminding himself that he had made a promise to leave Molly untarnished by his selfish, dark ways and was undeserving of the pitying look he’d been given in return.

There was a rustling and then a sigh of some efforts, Yasha’s quiet murmuring.

“You are still weak, Molly.”

“But _ — _ ”

“Rest. We should all rest.”

It was Beau who helped to lift Caleb off the ground; only in her firm, unyielding grasp did he feel comfortable, her fingers so tight on the flesh of his arm that he knew he would bruise. A deserving price for what had nearly come to—no, but that wasn’t right either. For it  _ had _ come to pass. And it hurt. Oh, how it had hurt. That was dangerous. Putting a word on the sharp, piercing feeling that struck him through the heart was perilous terrain. But no matter how he tried, Caleb was unable to erase the memory of how he  _ ached _ with the pain of it.

Love.

Caleb was in love.

It was like fire: the first sparks leapt within the warming cockles of his heart, the tiny peels of flame catching like wildfire, roaring up a blazing heat inside of him until he felt that his heart would burst out of his chest for it.

Love.

Caleb was in love with Mollymauk.

And it absolutely terrified him.

Much of the next hour or so passed Caleb by in a blur. The morning was at its darkest when Beau helped him up the stairs from within that deepest dungeon. At some point, Shakäste rounded up the rest of the freed captives before taking them off somewhere to apparent safety, disappearing into the night. Someone went to fetch Nila and her family from the clearing, although Caleb never saw who. They returned, relieved to find all there alive, while the others bustled about, clearing away bodies and looting the place.

Caleb only sat on the ground in the middle of the dining hall, working his magic as if in a trance, looking directly in front of him and nowhere else. Definitely not over to where Molly was dozing fitfully on one of the few intact tables, still not fully healed from his ordeal. Molly’s death, temporary as it had been, had forced Caleb to examine—no, to admit—the full extent of his feelings. He’d been lying to himself of course; that was something at which he was always quite good, but now any illusions he’d placed on himself were fully dispelled.

Loving Mollymauk was pure agony. Simply by admission, Caleb felt as though he was tainting Molly’s goodness—Molly who had saved his life, regardless of his own wellbeing. That was the worst pain of all, knowing that Molly thought well enough of him to do such a thing… it would not do for that to continue. He had to be told of Caleb’s past. The wizard steeled himself. When they were well enough, recovered and on their feet, then he would see if it was still necessary, or if Molly and his friends would go their own ways. Caleb knew that he would never be able to muster the strength to leave Molly himself, but were Molly to leave him… then and only then would Caleb be spared the anguish of trying.

_ And he  _ will _ leave you, once he is fixed. Then he and Yasha, Beau, Jester, Fjord, all of them will leave. Maybe Nott will leave me too. Either way, they will surely go. Why stay? You are a liability. You are nothing to them but a convenience, a help in the battle. And now it is ended and they will go on their way and you will be left alone again. Alone is safe. Alone cannot hurt anyone else. _

Soon, he finished weaving the spell, the golden web of arcane energy suffusing the air around him and solidifying into the tiny hut that he had been so anxious to devise as their trip grew longer and their number grew and the lands got colder.

Scrambling to the flap of the hut, he popped his head out. It was Yasha he saw first, listlessly stroking Molly’s hair as he slept. “Hallo. Yasha,” he called. “You can bring him in here to sleep, ja? And you may, as well. I cannot leave, so you must gather the others, but as many as will fit are welcome within.”

Tenderly, he watched as Yasha lifted her dearest friend and he curled instinctively into her chest. It amazed Caleb that despite how large and unwieldy a person Yasha was, she could manage to be so gentle with delicate things. And Molly, still weak, certainly counted as delicate in the moment. It was strange to see his bright light so dimmed; usually, Molly shone with joy and radiance, as stunning as the midday sun, but now his rays were covered over, dimmed by the clouds of lingering pain. She laid him within the hut before leveling a long look at Caleb.

What they shared between them was unvoiced.

_ Molly is more important than anything _ .

_ I know. I believe this too. _

Then, she went out of the space, disappearing behind arcane walls, to fetch the others and Caleb was left alone with a pale shadow of the Mollymauk he loved.

They were alone for some time. No one returned, but Caleb was not too worried; the stronghold was large and there were many places still to search for loot and the like. But when Molly began to stir in the early hours of the morning, still too soon for dawn to be upon them, Caleb felt low in his stomach the beginnings of panic. Alone with an unconscious Molly, the other was not so hard to ignore, despite how breathtaking he looked, chest rising gentle and uncompromised in his sleep, but a wakeful, earnest Molly had reaching hands and consoling tones that were not so easily ignored, and impossible to avoid.

Resolutely staring into his book, Caleb noticed the moment that Molly propped himself up on his elbows before rolling on his side and sitting up shakily.

“Caleb?”

He waited, unmoving except to scan the pages. Reading was a lost cause; all his attention fell on Molly, on the minutest change in the familiar and comforting rhythm of his breaths, on the slightest shift of his body.

Still no Yasha. It was almost as if—

“Caleb, dear one, please, look at me.”

Unable to deny Molly, Caleb looked up.

There were no words to accurately describe the incomparable beauty that Caleb saw in Molly’s face, eyes focused intently, brow furrowed ever so slightly, a look of fondness marred by desolation warring on impossibly precise features, duskily flushed cheeks radiating healthy colour. And his piercing eyes, so unsettling without pupils, as if looking directly at him and nowhere near him all at once.

“Caleb, my darling, what’s wrong?”

“I-I—”

Suddenly, Molly was moving, Molly was beside him, Molly was in his space in the blink of an eye, still frail and yet impossibly strong as a tentative purple hand laid itself atop his own pale one, trembling fingers barely touching the page of his book. It fell from his hands into his lap, useless, as Molly’s grasp tightened, the pressure nearly imperceptible.

“You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready. You don’t have to. It’s alright, dear heart.”

Overcome by the desire, all other thoughts—the self-depreciating ones that kept gnawing at his soul, insidious little whispers that told him to look away, to turn cold, to pull back—banished by Molly’s nearness, Caleb reached out and touched one petal-soft cheek, just brushing the feathered edge of the tattoo.

Caleb felt himself leaning in—or, was it Molly leaning towards him?—one small voice in the back of his head screaming, pounding against the firmly locked door of his rationality as Molly’s breaths sped up and Caleb’s heart began to pound and they drew closer, eyes fixed in an interlocking gaze until Caleb’s lashes flickered and he looked down to Molly’s lips, parted only  _ just _ so and—

“We found so much shit you guys!” Jester burst through the entry, arms pushing the flap back and out. Her eyes were shut, a side effect of her exuberant smile, giving the tiny jailed voice at the back of Caleb’s brain enough time to remind him to  _ MOVE _ . By the time she opened her eyes, mere second later, Caleb was situated a safe distance from Molly, as if he had never been anywhere else.

He could feel the weight of intent in Molly’s gaze even as the two Tieflings began to talk, though he did not dare look to see. Caleb knew what he looked like. He could feel his cheeks burning, the hot, flushed tingle of shame and he could not be entirely sure that Jester hadn’t caught that much as well. Beau entered behind her, followed by Nila and her family. Nott crept up behind him, then curled into the folds of his coat and promptly fell asleep. Fjord and Keg entered last and only then did Caleb speak the binding words, that the people within might be truly safe from harm while they slept.

* * *

All that night, before going to bed again, Molly was quiet, contemplative. At least, outwardly. His chest was itching from the healing-over wounds, and the metallic taste of his blood lingered in his mouth. Caleb was alive and that was all Molly cared about. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not his death; somehow, that sort of thing seemed less significant when one learned that one hadn’t even really been alive enough to die again in the first place. Molly was still dealing with that one. No, it was how near Caleb had come to death and the almost-kiss that had him going in mental circles, wild to be close to Caleb all of the time, wild to be alone with him. Wild to touch him.

All of the love he’d compounded and curled up into a warm glowing spot, waiting within him until Caleb was ready, had finally burst, exploding his emotions like a shattering of sunlight through the clouds. Molly felt like it was written all across his face how smitten he was. Yasha noticed, of course, but said nothing, simply offering her customary smile.

He wanted to take Caleb’s hands in his own and press them against his chest and say  _ I’m alive _ until Caleb believed him, until their tears – there were sure to be tears – mingled and then, finally, Molly would laugh out loud for joy and relief and take Caleb’s face in his hands and pull them together until their lips met, finally,  _ finally. _

Just the one problem of course: the bombshell dropped by the silver fox cleric, Shakäste. Molly wasn’t really alive in the natural, normal way he ought to be. He hadn’t given them much information beyond that, claiming that the world of the deceased was not his forte, merely that he had an awareness and an understanding of such things as a side effect of his blindness and reliance on the Dutchess.

Everything made a lot more sense once Molly had really examined what it was that Shakäste was saying. Caleb and Jester managed to bring his body back to life, but his soul hadn’t quite taken, like putting on a shoe that didn’t fit right, or wearing someone else’s coat. Misplaced. Untethered. The other shades… maybe they sensed it. That was the only thing Molly could think of. And it made sudden sense why he was having the night terrors, not so much dreams as reality, and not so much a lasting side effect of his former condition as an indicator of his true nature. Neither quite alive, nor quite dead. Somewhere in between.

When Molly woke that morning, before Caleb even, he found Beau, Keg and Yasha missing. He arched a brow in amusement. Who was he to begrudge them their fun? Caleb and the others were still dozing. Molly wagered he’d been asleep barely three hours since Jester had interrupted things. The sun was sure to rise soon, but, tired as he was, Molly decided to remain awake, at least until after the sun rose, sundering the veil from Exandria again. He rose, still a little unsteady, but better. The hollow in his chest didn’t ache quite so much, perhaps because at the very least he knew what it meant, even if he didn’t know what he was going to do about it yet.

Only two things were sure. He wanted to be alive, really, truly alive, again. He wanted to tell Caleb that he loved him.

_ Everything in its time and a time for everything,  _ he reminded himself as he stole from the kitchen and out into the chill pre-dawn of the moonlit courtyard.

Walking to the center, Molly settled himself on a frosted-over, scraggly patch of withered grass and looked up to the sky, first at one moon and then the next.

“Moonweaver. Sehanine. My Lady, I wanted to thank you. You’ve always been with me, from the beginning. When I had nothing else, you lit my way as I crawled in terror from my first grave. You shone kindly on me while I lived, and the moon was always bright in the glade where Beau laid me to rest. Thank you now for taking care of my friends, for helping me take care of Caleb. For watching over me. I wanted to tell you… I’m in love. I’m in love with Caleb Widogast. He’s a Zemnian Firemage and generally overall a pretty great wizard, and, even though I don’t think he knows it, a gentle, tender person. I was hoping… well, I know he’s right for me. I don’t make this decision lightly, Lady. I feel deeply that it’s right. Just, whatever happens to me, or to he and I, will you please watch over him as you do me? I know you’re watching them all, but Caleb needs a little extra taking care of and I don’t think I could bear it if anything happened to him. So, even if someday—all the gods forbid it—he and I part ways, or for whatever private anxieties that drive him, he turns me away, please, please watch over him for me. I’m going to be in love with him forever.”

He pulled his deck, let the cards fall as they may.

“Bless my love for him, Moonweaver?” he asked, voice a whisper in the night, swept away on the wind.

One gentle gust caught up two cards before letting them fall, face up before him.

He looked at them for a moment, then tilted his face upwards, lilac skin aglow in the silvery light, and spoke. “Thank you. I don’t have to like it, but I understand.” 

Molly stayed there, shivering a bit but mostly still, until dawn broke and the sun rose, signaling that it was safe for him to return to sleep.

As he re-entered the common mess, he caught sight of Keg attempting to sneak around the room, for once unhindered by her heavy plate armor which was lying carefully a ways from the front door. Not wishing to disturb her, he watched as she had far more success than usual in slipping in and out of Caleb’s arcane shelter and then out to the courtyard, readying to leave. Molly only watched; he felt at peace for the first time in a long while. It was good to feel like himself again, to be unburdened by life, to accept it for each twist and turn. He wondered if birds felt similarly when they soared high on the winds around the world. His time beneath the moon and the card that had been revealed left him a clear path. He’d spent so much time resigned to fate lately, instead of open to it, afraid of its bending ways instead of curious. No longer. It would be what he made it, nothing more or less.

When Keg was gone from sight, Molly crept back into the hut and made a choice, lying himself down in the spot Beau had vacated in the night. Eyes open, he contemplated the man who lay beside him, made to seem younger by the bliss of carefree sleep, and waited for Caleb to wake. With one last, long glance at Caleb, Molly let his heavy eyes fall shut and slipped into the very same state with ease.

His fate could wait for another morning.

When next Molly woke, everyone was up and bustling around: a cart was made full with loot and Nila’s family, not fully recovered from their long and arduous captivity, sat beside the meagre pile. Fjord had a new pouch around his waist, Molly noticed as he made his way towards where their immediate group was bickering over something. Beau and Nott each had letters in their hands, but Molly didn’t even attempt to spy what was written there; it would take far more concentration to make heads or tails of it than he had the patience or interest for. Yasha looked up at him almost immediately and he gave her a knowing smile. She stood close beside Beauregard, whose whole form was leaning in the other woman’s direction as if they were being pulled together by an unseen force. The monk’s stance was a little looser too, like she’d managed to unwind herself of the tension that had been present in her since Trostenwald; a combination, Molly imagined, of killing her adversary and a very, _ very _ nice night, if the flush on Yasha’s face was anything to go by.

Abruptly, Jester grabbed his arm and Molly startled. “Hey, Molly! We’re just trying to figure out what to do next! Beau remembered that Ophelia was talking about some Cleric in the woods and we were thinking that it couldn’t hurt to ask him about your situation and then maybe we could get you back, for like, real, you know, instead of you possessing your own body like some freaky ghosting thing or something, which is actually really cool now that I think about it, but you know what I mean.”

Just hearing Jester speak so many words so quickly made Molly feel out of breath. He put his arm companionably around her shoulder. “Jester, darling, you’re a wonder.” He turned to the rest. “I’m all for checking out this mysterious hermetic cleric. Even if it doesn’t help, it should at least be interesting.” He looked around, frowning a bit. “Where’s Caleb?”

“In the cart,” Nott pointed out the door. “He’s got one of his books open again, nose stuffed in it all morning now. My boy’s getting even smarter!” She puffed up her chest proudly, smiling widely, with all the yellowed fangs in her mouth. It was no wonder that Caleb loved her so dearly. Her obvious joy was catching. Perhaps it was her slightly malicious bent that made her so endearing. Molly wasn’t sure.

Together they left the Sour Nest behind, piling into the special, enchanted cart and driving away along the path in the woods that led in the direction Ophelia had mentioned the Blooming Grove could be found. Progress was exceedingly slow with the cart. Nott was driving, with Fjord’s occasional assistance, as they traveled a few hours northwest. Just as they were starting to grow worried that there’d been a wrong turn taken somewhere along the line, a patch of green issued from the purple-grey of the Savalier Wood. The air around them noticeably warmed, and the plant life began to alter, changing from primarily winter-hardy shrubs, brush, and trees to things that looked to better belong in a swamp and tall, uncompromised oaks, still with green leaves clinging to their branches.

As they crested the hill and looked down the slight dip to that unseasonable glade, a thick, winding wall of thorny purplish vines, uneven in height, came into view. The stopped the cart, pulling it off to one side of the path, though it was clear that it had gone unused for some time. Nott slipped over the remains of the metal fence, almost crushed beneath the heavy force of the vines, and the rest followed when she determined it to be safe. Whatever force it was that poisoned the woods around it, it was obviously creeping inwards in some attempt to reclaim the land. Any protection magics infused in that iron had long gone dormant and fallen away. One by one, with Nila’s aid in convincing the plants to cooperate, they made their way over and into the glade.

They moved towards the center, away from the perimeter of the ancient gravesite where the iron fences, that once held corruption at bay, had collapsed inward, inviting the rot and disease of the surrounding area within. There were three layers of similar walls moving inwards in concentric circles, which seemed each to have been built in response to the encroaching corruption that surrounded it. Within the third circle, there was a distinct lack of snow, ice, and even the biting winter chill that had left Caleb’s cheeks pink and raw.

Instead, Molly felt a nearly humid summer warmth. It was an unexpected and extreme shift in temperature and weather, either unnatural or magical. The untouched pocket of paradise was unlike anything he had ever seen before: small pools, bits of bog where the soft green and browns of compost fell into green, thick, algae-covered bits of water. There were rows upon rows of stone tablets, flowing script carved into them, the oldest covered over with moss and vines. The names, for they were certainly headstones, were washed away with age, impossible to read. At the center of the circle structure was a stone building with a high steeple, standing quite tall, and while it eclipsed some, it was not as tall as the tallest of treetops. There were opening in the stone, like windows but uncovered by panes of glass, open to the encroaching flora, overgrown with green vine and leaf and all manner of things.

The clouds, which up until then had been a thick cottony cover of grey, broke apart and sunlight streamed down into the tree canopy, illuminating the protected paradise. Like stepping into the fullness of spring, it only grew more beautiful the further in they went. Molly gasped. Flowers, once seeming dull, blossomed to an explosion of life and colour, a rainbow of pigments, some familiar in nature, some not, emerging where the light hit. Flowers literally covered everything, growing on the path, on the graves, even in the water beside small frogs croaking on lily pads. And then, as the sun passed them by, they faded once more, as if by some magic.

As they grew nearer and nearer, only the chapel remained before them. Even its structure was covered over in vegetation, strongest at the bottom and thinning the higher it went. As the group went, now up to ten people, however temporary, they occasionally stumbled their way over the thick, curling vines that crisscrossed the pathway as it bisected the circles.

Nott made her way up to the door, attempting to be sneaky, but tripped and fell on her back with a resounding thunk. From within, soft footfalls could be heard. The big wooden door creaked open slowly, revealing someone almost as colourful as Molly himself. Another Firbolg, approximately Nila’s height, stood in the door. Molly admired his long, soft pink hair, the sides apparently shaved to a low fuzz. Blearily, as if deciding whether or not to believe what he was seeing, the Firbolg blinked his long, dark lashes.

“Oh, um. I don’t know if I have this many cups. Hold on.” With a gentle swish of his long, flowing white gossamer sleeves, the gentle giant turned around and disappeared back inside. Molly was sure that he’d never met another individual quite like him and immediately smiled, wondering if that was the cleric they’d been searching for.

Behind him, Molly heard Nila whispering excitedly, over and over, “It’s a firbolg! He is a firbolg!”

Nott, ever the blunt one, asked “Do you know him? What’s his name?” over Nila’s continuous, happy chanting.

When the cleric returned, he was carrying a kettle that set up nicely in a tripod, which he stood securely between the vines only a few feet from the door. “You look like you folks could use some rest and aide. I’m happy to provide both.” He placed a large amethyst beneath the kettle, tapping it three times and immediately the water began to heat, obvious only from the extremely gentle bubbling that began in the water as he did. “Have a seat. I’m going to get some flowers for tea.”

“Are you… a threat?” Nott asked, still the only one brave enough to speak, or without enough awe to do so.

“No, I’m Mr. Clay.” 

Molly watched him go, melding well with his surroundings. A faintly musical hum could be heard from his direction as the Firbolg contentedly, unhurriedly plucked the flowers. Nila situated her family on a stone bench which was almost reclaimed by vegetation at that point.

It was truly stunning, this protected garden. Strangely, Molly felt a little like he imagined it would to be at home someplace. He glanced at Caleb and his heart warmed. Yes. Definitely home. Decidedly, Molly situated himself cross-legged on a mossy patch before the kettle, waiting. Nott had scampered off with Mr. Clay and Jester was twirling around in the sun-dappled clearing as the leaves above shifted lazily, her skirts billowing. Fjord too, looked content and Yasha—Yasha was the happiest of all, crouched down by a particularly lovely rosebush, pointing out different, remarkable blooms to Beau, who was obviously making a marked attempt at caring, though she watched Yasha more closely than the blossoms. Molly was happy for them, but also wistful. The hollow ache was almost worse here, so close to so much death, no matter how peaceful the graveyard was.

Molly must have lost track of time, because he blinked and there before him was a slightly fuzzy, grey hand, proffering a china cup on a small saucer, the amber liquid within swirling smoke and wafting a pleasant scent.

“Tea, friend?” Mr. Clay’s voice was low and resonant, a pleasant, unhurried nature to his speech, and Molly was instantly reminded that Ophelia had referred to him as a hermit.

“Yes, thanks.” Molly took it from him. Their hands just brushed, and something in the Firbolg’s stance change minutely at the contact.

“Oh. Well. You’ve got bigger problems than a few malnourished and hurting folks, haven’t you?” he asked, peering very, very closely into Molly’s eyes. It would normally have been unsettling, but Clay gave off such an affable manner that Molly still felt relaxed, despite his growing apprehension. “Drink the tea,” Clay told him, before standing back to his full height.

“I can help heal those who need it. But you came here to ask for more than general aide and shelter, didn’t you?” He looked each of them over carefully. “But no ill intentions, only good. That’s nice. I like that. My name is Caduceus Clay and I am the caretaker of this graveyard.”

“You have such lovely flowers!” Nila smiled at him earnestly. “I am of the Guiatao Clan, and this is my mate Kitor and my son, Asar. They have spent many days in captivity at the hands of the Iron Shepherds, whom we have crushed!” she said with quiet resolve, gesturing to the group around her. “I have done what I can, as has our healer friend, Jester, but they are in need still.”

“As is Mister Mollymauk.” Caleb had remained silent and still the entire time, as if unwilling to fully enjoy his surroundings. “Perhaps it is him you were referring to.”

A crooked smile crossed Caduceus’ face. “I’m very familiar with death,” he said cryptically. “I’ll help any who are hurt and then we’ll discuss what to do with you, Mister Mollymauk.”

Molly nodded and sipped his tea. The aroma was heavenly and the taste matched. It smelled of jasmine and soft spices, both warm and refreshing at the same time. He watched as Caduceus cared for Nila’s family and Jester helped fix up the last of other’s hurts, including Caleb who was still more pale than usual. Molly remembered his freckles, and wondered what he would look like in the summer, out under the blazing sun. Heart and body warmed, Molly let himself drift in the daydream.

The sun was lower in the sky when all was said and done, and Nila’s family were as much recovered in health as they would be. Though their spirits were bolstered, Molly knew that it was only time and the close comfort of family that could aide in healing their souls. As Clay led them inside to rest, Molly and the others gathered more closely to the kettle, waiting.

When he returned, closing the heavy door behind him very gently and quietly, he leveled a soft but intent stare on Molly, who felt himself relax into it, trusting in the cards from the night before; they’d never steered him wrong, and, in any case, the Moonweaver had spoken through them. Unafraid, he allowed Yasha to take his hand. He squeezed hers back, reassuringly.

“You know what you are?” Clay asked, no accusation in his voice, only curiosity.

“Sort of.”

“You’re not alive. Not properly at any rate.”

“So I was told yesterday.”

“Would you tell me your story?”

So, Molly did. From the beginning, clawing his way from the depths of the ground into the frigid moonlit night, starting over, dying again, Caleb finding him as a shade, being revived, the hollow ache in his chest, the fight the night before. Dying once more and starting yet again. A cycle, over and over.

“Hmmm.”  The cleric scratched at his chin a little before taking another sip of tea. Molly had lost track of how many cups the Firbolg had drank since their arrival. “Something is holding you back. You became attached to something besides your body after your second death, based on how you’ve described that weird empty feeling. Whatever it is, as long as you remain attached to it, you’ll never be able to really join your body again.” Caduceus shrugged, setting down his tea. “Life and death have an order to them.” He lifted his arms, gesturing about him. “My family has tended this graveyard and its inhabitants for many, many seasons. The flowers from this tea are from Casala. A textile family generations ago, but they make very good tea now. They did their part in life, and now in death. There’s a natural order, and you defy it, though you don’t know how. I’ve heard it called a lingering soul. You don’t feel alive, not to my senses, but you’re not dead either. That’s unique.” He cocked his head and the intense look turned empathetic. “I’ll do what I can, but it is your part to detach yourself from what you’ve become attached to. Are you a buried soul, or an unburied one? I can’t make that decision for you, friend.”

“And if I’m able to do so?”

A small understanding smile and large, sad eyes met Molly’s. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”

Clay was right. Molly thought back to the cards and stood. “I need some time alone, to think.”

The others heeded his wish. Molly wandered the circles, working his way outward to the markers that were more vines than stone. He found a nice wide one and settled himself up against its side, resting his head back and looking to the sky. Grey again, only the slightest hint of the purple sunset visible just above the treetops. For a while, he listened to the world around him, bugs humming and chirping, a few stray birds whistling and the chattering of small rodents as the wind gave life to the leaves, rustling bushes and shrubs from time to time.

A few light footfalls interrupted the peacefulness of nature. If Molly had been any deeper in thought, he might have missed them, but he shifted enough to indicate he was aware of the other’s presence, not looking away from the twilight sky.

“You must do this, Mollymauk.”

Caleb.

“Whatever you are thinking, whatever it is that has you undecided, you must put it aside. The Shades bother you before dawn because they want to push you out, to take over your body. I should have seen it and did not, and you have suffered for it. Now you no longer have to. Mr. Clay will assist you and all will be right.”

Finally, Molly turned his head, looking over his shoulder to where Caleb stood, holding himself stiffly, as if in pain. “Oh, Caleb. There’s so much more than to consider.”

“Is there?”

Molly almost laughed. Typical Zemnian, so practical. He patted the ground beside him. “Come, sit by me and I’ll tell you.”

For a moment, it seemed that Caleb would not move. Molly looked away, waiting, and was rewarded when Caleb eventually settled himself beside Molly. No longer caring, Molly reached out and took one of Caleb’s hands in his own, though only because Caleb allowed it. He rubbed a gentle thumb over the soft skin there.

“Caleb, when I died the first time and came back, I had no memory.” The wind picked up, gusting around them and a few browning leaves fluttered in, the cool breeze contrasting with the warmth of the protected glade. Life and death in tandem. There was no escape. “You know how surprising it was to us that I remembered anything at all after the ritual that you and Jester performed on me. Now,” he pulled Caleb’s hand into his lap, covering it with both, holding it warm and secure. “Now you know why. I’m not alive. I’m not dead. But I have myself. I have my memory. This heart,” he pulled Caleb’s hand upwards, pressing it against the mottled silver scars so that he could feel the thrum beneath. “This heart is beating, Caleb. And I would suffer ten-thousand mornings of terror before having to start all over again. Can’t this be enough?”

A curious glint shone in Caleb’s eyes, illuminated by the first rising moon. “You know it is not.” His eyes narrowed, watching Molly closely. “Your emptiness, Mollymauk—”

“You’re right. I know it’s not. All the same, I’d rather have that all than lose myself, lose Yasha and the others.” He took a deep breath, meeting Caleb’s gaze. “And you. It’s you, Caleb. I know it. I was so lonely and you were so kind and curious and beautiful… I wanted to see you in colour. I attached my soul to you, and I couldn’t let go. I don’t want to lose you, Caleb. I can’t.”

“You would not lose me, Mollymauk.” The words shocked Molly, and then something sparked, something changed and a fierceness took up residence in Caleb’s posture where there had been trepidation, even fear. Suddenly, Caleb was pressing close, the hand against Molly’s chest finding purchase in the loose fabric of his shirt, pulling him in until their foreheads were touching and Molly could feel hot tears dripping onto his cheek. “You will never lose me.”

For a moment, Molly thought that Caleb was going to kiss him; but it never came, and Molly didn’t push it, because Caleb spoke again, in a whisper so soft it was almost as though he hadn’t spoken at all. “But perhaps, I will lose you.”

Gently, so as not to cause Caleb to pull away entirely, Molly moved his head so he could look into Caleb’s eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

“I must tell you something. Something… about me. And then maybe it will not be so hard for you to let go. I wish—I-I—”

“Caleb!” Desperation laced his voice and Molly felt his own tears surge. He pulled the man to him, arms encircling him tightly. “Whatever it is, it can’t push me away, it can’t change how I feel. It won’t. I know it won’t.”

“You cannot know that,” Caleb said, voice muffled from where he was pressed into the crook of Molly’s neck, and he sat up, pulling away but not disengaging entirely, one hand still pressed against Molly’s heart. “I will tell you. I must tell you, and if you care...” The word wobbled its way from Caleb’s mouth, heavily accented. “If you care, you will let me.”

So Molly let him.

“When I was a boy, long ago, in the Zemni Fields, I had a very good, happy life. I was very blessed, Mollymauk. I was told I had a future. Myself and two other were taken by a man named Trent Ikithon to Rexxentrum, where we honed our gifts, learned magic beyond our wildest dreams. We grew powerful under his tutelage. He was not… kind. But we adored him. I adored him. Garnering his praise was worth the punishments that we endured when we did not succeed…” Caleb trailed away, lost, it seemed, in memory and finally, Molly thought, he was beginning to understand, beginning to see. But the picture wasn’t quite complete. “He molded us into good soldiers for the Empire. We served the throne, we served the law. If he brought someone before us who needed to be served justice, we did that too. 

“Just before our graduation, we were sent home. My parents… they were so proud of me… and I overheard them that night… Leofric.” He paused before beginning again, softly, reverently, and Molly’s heart sank in premonition. “And Una. They were speaking of rebellion. Of uprising. Overthrowing the Empire and I… I was disgusted. How they could dare to even think such things? I found it was the same in Astrid and Eodwulf’s homes. A little rebellion in our own Blumenthaal. And we decided that it must be ended. So we waited outside while Eodwulf killed his parents. And at Astrid’s we had dinner. She poisoned their food. Then, we went to my parent’s house.”

Molly’s hand grasped tightly at Caleb’s, and he felt the tears slipping down the side of his nose. Caleb’s eyes were dry, though red, and he spoke unevenly, emotion and a tinge of hysteria mangling his words. “We pushed a cart up against the door, so they could not get out. And I watched through the window, and I saw my parents, my mother, as my fire devoured them. I killed them. It was autumn. The leaves were the same colour as the flame.” A heavy pause stole life and sound from the air. “I… I broke, a little, I guess, and I did not know much of anything for a long time. I was hazy… floating in nothing, lost… I came out of it in an asylum, but I was still not myself. I do not know…I do not know what happened between that night and when I returned from my head. I do not know what happened to Astrid and Eodwulf. I do not know anything. A woman at the asylum, she laid hands on me and my head was clear and I understood. My parents had done nothing… The memories I had of hearing them speak treason and venom… it was him. It was Ikithon. Testing us. I killed them. I killed my parents for a test. But more, I wanted to. I wanted to, so I did. Afterwards, the woman who healed me went catatonic. I killed some guards and ran, but not before stealing this.” With his free hand, Caleb pulled the cord out from under his clothes, exposing an amulet. “It hides me from their sight. Nothing can scry me, and so I remain safe.”

The words halted as suddenly as they had begun. Caleb looked worn, as though the telling of his story pulled all of his energy out and away, leaving him exhausted. So exhausted, that Molly didn’t expect it when Caleb spoke again.

“So, now, you must go to Mister Clay, and be fixed.”

“No.” The word escaped Molly more firmly than he would have liked, but it seemed to be exactly the right tonality to bring Caleb out from his dazed state, flinching as he did. “No, Caleb. It wasn’t you. You were manipulated. You were—it wasn’t you.”

“But I wanted to do it, Molly. I still wanted to kill them when I believed it. That was me.”

“I don’t care.” Molly knew that there was an edge of desperation to his voice, but he kept speaking. “I don’t care. I know who you are now. You care for Nott, for me. You speak on your parents with reverence, share your mother’s stories. You are not the person who did those things. Remorse, Caleb, you show remorse! And that is why I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. If the past matters, that makes me nothing. I have no past, and the future is only what we make it. I know you don’t believe me, won’t agree with me—can’t, even…” He put a finger under Caleb’s chin, lifting so that their eyes would meet. “No matter what you believe about yourself, you will not lose me either. I’m here, Caleb. I’m staying. I don’t want to forget you. I would feel just as hollow and empty without you as I do now.”

Caleb’s breathing shifted; where before it had been stuttering, it was now deep and strong. “I do not understand you, Mollymauk Tealeaf. If you will not leave me—”

“I won’t. There’s no if,” he cut in, determined to knock it into Caleb’s brain if it was the last thing he ever did.

“ _ If _ you will not leave me,” Caleb insisted. “Think then of Yasha. Think of how she must feel now, knowing that you are not whole. And Beau, who I do not think will rest until you are righted. She bears the burden of guilt for your death, still. And Jester, who first tried to revive you, who also feels she is to blame, though we know it is untrue. You cannot go on like this, Molly. It is no good life to live. And you, of all people, deserve a good one.”

_ So do you, Caleb _ , Molly thought to himself.

Without warning, Caleb grasped at Molly’s hands, pressing the palms up and resting his thumbs there. Molly curled his fingers over them, locking them together. In a tentative voice, as if he wasn’t sure he should speak, Caleb said, “Maybe it is selfish, but I had hoped you would refuse.”

Surprised, Molly looked up. “What?” The moons were fully risen, their light catching Caleb from behind, setting a glow about his copper hair like a halo, so, so beautiful. And his eyes, Molly saw, shone like stars, almost silvery in the night instead of their usual clear blue.

“I want you to want to remember me. I do not deserve it, but I want it all the same.”

Brows pulling inward, Molly shook his head, confused. “Caleb, what are you—”

“I am in love with you, Mollymauk.”

Molly trembled. All at once, the tightly curled ball in his heart unwound and he surged forward, letting go of Caleb’s hands in favour of grasping at his coat, pulling him in until they were leaning towards one another, flush, lips only a hairsbreadth away. It was Caleb who closed the distance without hesitation, kissing Molly gently despite the fervor of emotion that had led them there. His lips were soft against Molly’s and his palm fell on Molly’s cheek. His fingers tangled into Molly’s hair—not rough, but gentle, sure rather than tentative. Molly let go of Caleb’s coat, putting his arms around him firmly instead, their hearts beating together in synchronized perfection. The first kiss, nothing more than a simple press of lips, lasted mere moments though Molly felt that it surely must have been an eternity. Their foreheads rested together again as they breathed heavily in the aftermath. It was overwhelming, miraculous, unexpected and Molly clutched his fingers against Caleb’s shoulders, trying to get closer. That time, Caleb reacted in tandem, the sweetness of the first kiss compounded by the languid exploration of the second, mouths parting as lips met, unrushed and thorough as they learned one another. They pulled closer and closer as much as their position on the ground would allow, until they were practically kneeling, bodies aligned.

Caleb’s fingers trailed lightly over Molly’s face, down his lips as they broke apart again. The touches were ghosting, barely there, and a look of awe crested over Caleb. Molly could see tears at the corners of his eyes. Welling up, but unshed, they glimmered, gems in the darkness.

“I’m in love with you too,” Molly whispered, pressing a hand to the back of Caleb’s head, stroking his tangled hair. “I love you, Caleb. I love you.”

They moved together, in fluid understanding. Caleb lay back amongst the rustling leaves, head cushioned on a thick vine and Molly followed him down, settling on his side next to Caleb, one hand sliding over the man’s chest as he leaned over him to kiss him again and again as the night deepened around them.

Molly liked the feeling of Caleb’s head, pillowed on his chest, ear pressed to the precise spot where he could hear the beating of Molly’s heart. They’d kissed for some time, reveling in the newness, in the precious opportunity they’d been provided. Molly petted at Caleb’s hair. “Dear one. Caleb,” he said softly. “I don’t want to forget you.”

Caleb sat up, looking down at Molly. “It is for the best.”

“I know. More than that. It’s meant to be.” He rose too, shaking the leaves from his hair, jewelry clinking.

“What do you mean, Molly?”

Slipping one hand inside his coat pocket, Molly pulled forth his cards, sliding two from the deck and showing the first to Caleb. The Hanged Man. 

“I pulled these last night. I never used to fear anything, Caleb, least of all change. I embraced it. It’s time I started doing that again. I can’t be selfish, no matter how much I want to be.” He traced a finger down the side of Caleb’s face. “Especially now. I love you.”

“And I love you,” came the earnest response. Molly had to smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He shifted the cards to reveal the other, and Caleb’s eyes widened in response. The Lovers.

“We’re at a crossroads, you and I. You’ve been with me since this started. You brought me back into the light. I have to do this.”

“I know.” Caleb lowered Molly’s hands and he let the cards fall loose in his lap. “I will be with you. I will not leave. I do not think it is possible for me to do anything else.”

“Promise me,” Molly infused his tone with a grave solemnity he didn’t usually have. “Promise me, Caleb, that you’ll be the first thing I see?”

“Of course. Es ist versprochen, liebling. Du bist alle mein sehnsucht.”

It didn’t matter what the Zemnian meant, Caleb’s intent was clear.

“We should probably head back,” Molly said after a moment. “They’ll be waiting for us.”

“Ja, wahrscheinlich.” Caleb’s gaze was firmly on Molly’s lips. “I don’t want to let you go.”

Molly pressed a hand to Caleb’s cheek. “You’re not. You’ll have me back again soon. I’m going to need you and Yasha and the others now more than ever. Sometimes we have to take a step back in order to find our way forward again, my love.”

“Perhaps.” Caleb stood, pulling Molly with him. “Perhaps.” They kissed, one last time, a soft, lingering kiss, full of meaning, of intent spoken and unspoken. Molly paused only to pick up his cards from the ground, and put them back away before, hand in hand, made their way back to the temple of the Blooming Grove.

Only Clay was waiting for them when they returned, the others seemingly inside the house, tucked away to sleep.

“You’ve made a decision,” the cleric intoned knowingly.

“Yes,” Molly managed firmly. “Thank you for your help.”

“It’s hard to let go when there is so much already before you. Trust that it will still be there when you wake up again. You’re loved too much and too deeply, that’s very clear.”

Kindly, he reached out a long, thin arm. “Come along, the rest are inside. By morning, we’ll have your soul righted.”

Caleb’s hand did not leave Molly’s, even as they stepped inside. Beau’s eyes flickered to their linked hands automatically, but she said nothing. Even Jester seemed restrained.

The interior of the temple was just as the courtyard: stark stone, gradually overcome by the encroaching forest, vines trailing up the walls and in and around the wooden benches. When they reached the front of the small room where they rest were seated, Caduceus kept going. Molly made to follow, but behind him, Caleb had stopped. He turned, caught Caleb’s gaze. Almost imperceptibly, Caleb shook his head. Molly’s breath hitched as their hands pulled apart and, fingers just grazing, fell to their sides as he finally, finally, let Caleb go.

Within him, something shifted. Molly swayed in place, stopping before the stone altar as the physical reverberations shuddered through him, leaving him faint. Beau rushed up, catching him, but he was too busy reeling from the change to burn with the humiliation of it. Clay’s kind face entered his vision.

“It’s alright. You’re ready now. You’ll be okay.” Molly took the hand offered to him and Beau let go as Caduceus led him forward, helping him to lay on the stone altar. “It might help to close your eyes. A bit like sleeping,” he suggested, loud enough only so that Molly could hear, but he shook his head. The stone was cold beneath him, and he shivered a bit.

“No. I want to see everything while I still can. While I remember.”

Clay nodded and then began his incantation, the amethyst in his staff giving off a pulsing glow. The moon shone through the open window, and Molly felt the tender touch of Sehanine putting him at ease. All the while, he kept his eyes open, firmly fixing his gaze on the ceiling, following the unknowable patterns of the winding vines through the rafters until darkness drifted over him.

Eyes Never Shut.

 

 

Light.

 

And then blue. Blue, blue, blue.

 

What was blue?

 

The blue blinked. He blinked back.

 

More blue. He wanted to touch it.

 

What was touch?

 

“Hello, Mollymauk.”

 

What was Mollymauk?

 

“I am here. I promised.” A soft voice in his ear, like a caress. Was a caress a touch?

 

Warm. He knew warm. Warm was good. Blue was familiar. It was enough.

 

He smiled.

 

He was safe.

 

He was content.

 

“Once in a while I am struck

all over again by just how blue 

the sky appears on wind-played 

autumn mornings, blue enough

to bruise a heart.” 

_ ~ Sanobar Khan _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never beg for reviews, but I'm begging now. Please tell me how you feel. XO
> 
> Please check out some lovely art done for this fic: https://twitter.com/shiningbindx/status/1049464540294012928   
> The artist did an AMAZING job!


	8. 8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's much behind them, and so, so much ahead.

Epilogue:

 

I'm glad to be alive

in a world where

his gently awakening eyes

nourish the morning sun.

_~ Sanober Khan,_ _Turquoise Silence_

 

Spring passes and one remembers one's innocence.

Summer passes and one remembers one's exuberance.

Autumn passes and one remembers one's reverence.

Winter passes and one remembers one's perseverance.

_ ~ Yoko Ono _

 

Nicodranas, Day, Early Fessuran, One Year Later:

 

“Molly, come help me with my hair please!” Jester called out. Caleb watched as Molly groaned from his seat, giving an exaggerated eye roll for effect as he slowly, slowly made to rise from the chair. “Molly! Please!” Jester pouted at him. “Mama’s busy and you do such a nice job!”

“I’m coming.” A brilliant smile parted his lilac lips. “What would you do without me?”

“I would absolutely one hundred percent just lie in bed all day, moaning and groaning without you, that’s what. Now pretty, pretty please will you do my hair?”

“Of course, Jester. Only the best for you.”

Caleb had thought once, months ago already, that maybe his heart would stop aching every time he looked at Molly. He’d thought his breath would cease to catch each time they locked gazes, and his heart would finally stop racing whenever they touched. Soon, he kept telling himself, despite the fact that soon would come and go without change.

Soon.

More like never.

Nott had tried to console him many a time when he grew sad, but the best help was knowing that Molly was safe, that his soul was properly attached to his body, where it belonged. That his nights were free of terror and his dawns not a desperate race to wake before he could be pushed away from his body, lost forever to the endlessness of the veil.

With his eidetic memory, Caleb could recall many things: spells, maps, locations, the recipe for his mother’s  _ Rindergeschnetzeltes mit Karrotten und Kartoffeln, _ but nothing so accurately as the feel of Molly’s lips against his own, Molly’s arms encircling his back, Molly’s hands in his hair, Molly’s voice, breathless, as he told Caleb he loved him. All such memories had pushed even that of his parent’s death down to second most vivid, something which Caleb felt a little bad for, but knew to be the truth. Molly, glowing ethereal in the moonlight, lips parted, panting from their kisses, grasping at him desperately, as though Caleb himself were breath and life, yes, that memory blazed in the forefront of his mind, haunting his dreams as surely as Molly had once haunted the road between Alfield and Trostenwald.

“Caleb?”

Brought rudely out of his daydreaming, Caleb looked up to see Molly and Jester waiting upon him patiently.

“Ja, what now?”

“I’ve been calling your name for half a minute. How do you like it?”

“It is very nice, Mollymauk,” Caleb replied. “You look lovely as always, Jester.” She did indeed look lovely, beaming at his compliment, small white blossoms braided into fine bits of her blue hair so that it looked as though she were wearing a crown, the rest bouncing about her chin in its customary bob.

“Thank you Caleb!” She got up, flying to his side to kiss him gently on the cheek before running out of the room. “Mama! Look what Molly did for me! Isn’t it THE BEST???”

Molly chuckled and for a moment – one of many, many countless moments that ran together endlessly – Caleb forgot that Molly did not remember. That Molly was still new. He was always forgetting. And because he was always forgetting, he was also always remembering, and each time the pang of realization struck his heart just as hard.

“Are you alright, darling?” Molly asked.

It was then that Caleb realized they were alone together. That was something he tried to avoid as often as possible, and something that the rest of the group – the Might Nein, they’d taken to calling themselves after it became clear that not one of them intended to part with the others any time soon – actively tried to sabotage, abruptly leaving the moment it was clear that Caleb was too distracted to notice. Molly never left when they did, always remaining patiently with him, something Caleb didn’t quite understand.

Very little had changed about Molly when he woke, save that he was prone to move less; the leg bobbing and nervous ticks like playing with his hair frequently and drumming his fingers had disappeared. Instead, Molly radiated peace and contentment, though calm was not quite a word that would ever describe him. And that was all. Woke, however, was a misnomer. In reality, Molly had never fallen asleep, never even closed his eyes. He had simply…stopped. Though they’d told him repeatedly that it was Caleb himself who had cried out in anguish when Molly’s chest stilled, Caleb couldn’t remember it. Those moments were at once pristine as glass and likewise a blur. The whole world had gone silent for Caleb as Molly breathed his last, as Molly left the world. Still without Frumpkin, he’d blinked rapidly anyways, desperate for a glimpse beyond the veil, a glimpse at Molly’s Shade, the insubstantial, smoky form he’d originally grown so fond of nearly a month before. Molly stopped and Caleb had almost stopped with him. It was Yasha who held him, grip firm on his shoulder, grounding him enough that he didn’t lunge forward to try and reach Molly in the middle of the ritual.

Then they’d waited. Caduceus Clay seemed unbothered by the affair, calmly finishing his chanting, the arcane amethyst sparking with power as he did. And Molly’s chest rose and fell, but he didn’t move. Only once Clay motioned to them did they cluster. Molly’s crimson eyes stared unseeing at the rafters, but his breathing was even. Four hours, into the morning, Caleb sat beside him, hovering between dead calm and unbearable anxiety, before the light returned to Molly’s motionless eyes and he blinked, long and slow. Caleb had bent over him, speaking to him, hoping against all hope, despite knowing that there was none and when he’d opened his eyes once more, Molly had smiled.

“Ja, Molly,” Caleb replied after what he was sure was far too long of a silence to be acceptable. “I am well.”

“Well’s not the same thing as alright, but it’s better than nothing. C’mon. We’re keeping the others waiting.”

A lavender hand reached out to him, but Caleb did not take it, standing without Molly’s assistance, sure he would break to pieces if he so much as grazed Molly’s skin. Caleb did not even dare glance at Molly as he led the way out of the room, missing the dejected look on the Tiefling’s face.

Nicodranas was a welcome respite after their long sojourn in the north. Outside of the Empire, Caleb felt like he was free for the first time in longer than he could recall; in fact, they were all settling a bit. Beau was thriving; she and Yasha had only grown closer, and Caleb had never had it in him to feel jealous. It was good to see them so happy, and more comfortable with one another every day. Sometimes, they even smiled.  Jester still pined endlessly over Fjord, who still blushed at her attentions and Caleb felt that something would come of it sooner rather than later. Nott was ever faithful, and unchanged, still fiercely devoted to him, still kind and mischievous and the darling of his heart. And still terrified of water, which made their trips to the beach all the more interesting.

Such was the nature of their trip that day. In the early days of Fessuran, the only indication that autumn had arrived on the coast was a change in the air. It was somehow crisper, the sky a paler shade of crystalline blue. All the same, Caleb knew precisely what day it was, could recall how he’d trekked his way along the dirt road, allowing Frumpkin to lead him. Right to Molly’s grave.

He was walking behind the rest. Nicodranas was a bustling port city, unlike anything that Caleb had ever seen before. Every time he caught a glimpse of the ocean, he felt the vast, expanse shudder at the roots of his very soul. That such a place existed was nearly unfathomable. Noticing that he was falling behind, and not entirely sure exactly where Jester was taking them that morning, Caleb jogged a bit to catch up to others as they rounded a corner.

As he did, he saw that they were stopped at a booth full of sweets. Of course, Jester could never pass such a thing by. Just as he neared the rest of the Nein, coming up behind as he swerved his path to avoid an oncoming cart, he overheard Molly ask Yasha, “Do you think Caleb likes me? I don’t think he likes me very much.” A pause. “I want him too, though.”

Heartbeat stuttering, Caleb froze in his tracks.

“What do you mean, Molly? Of course Caleb likes you.”

“I go out of my way to be nice, Yasha, but he’s always shooting me down in some way! Today, I offered my hand, you know, a friendly gesture, I knew he didn’t need help getting out of the chair. He just stood up and walked away without a word, like I wasn’t even there.”

Caleb pressed a hand over his mouth to stop a sob from wrenching it’s way from his lips.

“Oh Molly, I don’t –“

“Did we not get along before? I thought he was the one who found my ghost or whatever? Didn’t he save me? I don’t understand, Yasha.”

“Oh Molly,” she repeated, putting a hand against his cheek. “It’s not like that at all. Maybe you should ask Caleb… It’s not for me to say.”

Sadness gave way to confusion as Molly pondered her words and Caleb continued to stifle the noises he was sure would erupt should he move his hand.

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

It took several minutes for Caleb to compose himself before rejoining the group, one of his books in hand, held aloft, close to his face to mask his emotions.

“There you are!” Nott grabbed the corner of his coat. “Come on! I’ve got gulls to shoot!”

All too soon they were at the beach and Caleb swallowed heavily as everyone – Molly included, doffed much of their clothing in favour of running into the water or sunning on the sand. Caleb too began to strip, all but his underclothes, before walking a ways away and wading into the surf. He swam out a couple hundred feet before allowing himself to float, lolling against the calm waves. At least like that, he could have a moment’s peace.

After several minutes, there was a slight commotion and Caleb lifted his head to look, treading water instead of floating.

“All I said was that it was a nice coat, what’s with you guys?!” Molly called from where he lay sunning, rolling over in abject confusion. He clambered to his feet as Yasha, Beau, and Jester all splashed their way towards a man walking past their small set-up. Even from his distance, Caleb could see the man blanch, terrified by the roaring rage of the three dripping women as they rushed him, one large and pale, the other dark skinned and slim, and a third blue and muscular. 

His petrification only lasted a moment before he took off and only then did Caleb understand. Flying out behind him was a long, magnificent coat of deep maroon, twisting, precise embroidery lovingly stitched all over, and a collar of gold, green and red. The wind caught it, flipping it up to reveal a deep twilight blue done over with hundreds of crescent moons.

It could only be Molly’s coat.

Making his way to shore, Caleb could only watch on in astonishment as Yasha tackled the man to the ground and Beau put a foot across his face. Jester had a fist up, waving it threateningly as she said something and the other two let the man up, who shrugged out of the coat quickly, terrified.

Molly was already rushing up to them confusedly. “What in the hells is going on here?”

“This man took your coat, Molly!”

“Tha’s no’ true! I di’n steal nobody’s coat, no sir—ma’am, shit, I—”

“If you didn’t steal it, where’d you get it, asshole?” Caleb, Fjord and Nott were closing on the group as Beau asked the question, fists clenched and raised. “And tell the fucking truth while you’re at it.” She punched him, once, twice, in quick succession, leaving him to double over.

“Aw’righ, aw’righ, ah’ll tell ya. I got it off a grave, what—”

“So it is his fucking coat! Molly that’s your goddamned fucking coat you absolute peacock!” Beau shoved the guy, who fell back into the sand. “Where do you get off robbing a guy’s grave?”

“’e’s dead! Wot’s it matter?!”

“Here, here,” Molly pushed them aside, his red velvet coat in hands. “It matters because I’m him and I’m not dead anymore,” The man’s eyes widened as he made to back away, but Fjord put a hand on his shoulder from behind, keeping him in place. “But Beau, Jester… Yasha, really?” Molly shook his head, exasperatedly. “You can’t just take the man’s coat. He probably needed it. Let’s trade, shall we? You can have this one, and I’ll take my old one back, thanks.”

Hands shaking, the man took the coat from Molly, stammering a quick “Thank you” before he turned, ducked Fjord’s hand, and bolted away down the beach and up into the dunes, disappearing as he dipped below the horizon.

Caleb reached down as the rest watched him go, picking up the coat. It was clear that Molly had indeed put much love and effort into it. Symbols covered the entirety of it, stitches even and pulled taut. Gently, he brushed the sand from it, shaking it out for a moment. “Molly…” he said quietly. “Your coat…”

Molly turned and took the magnificent creation from him, their hands brushing for a moment, and felt his breath hitch. He let his eyes flutter closed, imagining and hoping, perhaps and—

Like a butterfly on a flower, Caleb felt Molly’s lips alight on his cheek. When he opened his eyes, Molly was watching him and Caleb didn’t have to wonder at the burgeoning emotion he saw there; he knew it already. “Thank you, dear,” Molly replied, holding the coat in the space between them, though he paid it no attention. 

“Ich liebe dich.” Caleb couldn’t help but say it, couldn’t help but feel as if he were rent in two, both soaring and plummeting simultaneously as he made the confession for the second first time. 

“If that’s supposed you mean you’re welcome, I’ll take it gladly.”

“Ja…” Caleb breathed. He didn’t know where his head was at, didn’t know what he was doing. “Nein…”

Molly’s fine brows raised. “Now, I know what  _ that  _ means. Which is it, Caleb?”

“It does not mean you're welcome.”

The others had already returned to their activities. For once, Caleb was grateful for their machinations. Reaching out, he grasped Molly’s wrist, pulling him in by the hand that held the coat until they were standing closer than they had been in a year. “It means,” he began, heart speeding up, “that I love you.”

And when Caleb leaned in to kiss him, Molly kissed back.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to meridas and myriadofcolors, my faithful betas, thanks to the widomauk discord, thanks to everyone who read this story.   
> Thanks to Critical Role.


	9. Bonus: OST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songs from All That's Ahead and Behind and the newly added Timestamp: Spectrum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The timestamp for this story is now up, in addition to the playlist that I used while writing both. Thank you to everyone who read, kudos'd reviewed. You're all amazing and I love you.

Bonus

Songs for All That’s Ahead and Behind and Bonus Timestamp, Spectrum:

Official OST: the Entire [Forn ](https://kaunan.bandcamp.com/)album by Kaunan

Songs from:

Florence and the Machine:

[Spectrum](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tcpngOvcBlg)

[Seven Devils](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8QdpCJIyyi4)

[Too Much Is Never Enough](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ao-Znq9rzwU)

Colm McGuinness:

[Trost](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-jZsFyv67s)

[Ashkeeper](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=afNkS1u29bw&t=)

[Welcome to Wildemount](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WEQC2HyhgTc)

Single Songs:

[I Burn for You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z5BYxmoKaXY), by David Foster

[Elven Dirge: I Lament](https://soundcloud.com/user-556488396/elven-dirge-i-lament-credit) by BattleBards


End file.
